


Of Lace and Porcelain

by Scattered_Irises



Series: Of Lace and Porcelain [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Abuse, Aged-Up Character(s), Body Horror, Botox Gone Wrong, Disturbing Themes, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eye Trauma, Forced Cosmetic Procedures, Gore, Horror, Incest, Mouth trauma, Mutilation, Nonconsensual Body Modification, Other, Physical Abuse, Post-Canon, Powerlessness, Rape, Really Disturbing Themes, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, living dolls, teeth horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-07-30 03:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 59
Words: 68,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scattered_Irises/pseuds/Scattered_Irises
Summary: The dolls in Thomas’s room each have their own unique personality. Each one is elegantly crafted, their beautiful faces unchanging. Sometimes, he wishes that his family were more like that. In the wake of their father's untimely departure, the urge to preserve his family becomes even more stronger. When his fantasies spin out of control, he leaves behind a path of misery, pain and ultimately, regret. It begins with Rose, then the Queen and before he realizes it, he has amassed himself a new collection of dolls. His new dolls constantly whisper for release, yet he turns away from their silent voices and continues to delve into his fantasy. For someone who had never had a proper childhood, this was the closest it would ever become. Such is the horrid innocence of a child.





	1. A Few Brief Words

* * *

“The words with which a child’s heart is poisoned, through malice or through ignorance, remain branded in his memory, and sooner or later they burn his soul,” The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruíz Zafón

* * *

Original cover by AerialArtistic [here](https://aerialartistic.tumblr.com/post/186740512567/welcome-to-the-witching-hour-where-all-the-best)

My abridged cover [here](https://scattered-irises.tumblr.com/post/186997407695/thats-it-thats-basically-the-story-for-of-lace)


	2. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first time doing the YuGiOh Big Bang. I was so excited, I posted at 12:11 AM on August 3rd! The collection's not open as of yet, but you'll see me there soon! This story is going to escalate very fast so hold onto your hats. It's going to get gross, it's going to get freaky and it's going to go to hell. (Waves hand) See you guys at the bottom floor!  
I was inspired to write this story after reading some of Codeheart/Worstpossibledoki's dolls AU from waaaaay back in the heyday of Zexal. They had a really good story and I wanted to see what I could do with something like that. Theirs had a lot of crest magic and Byron. I am going to have a lot of missing limbs, lots of screaming, teeth horror...really gross teeth horror, barely any Tron or Byron and a lot of pretty costumes. (Snaps fingers.) This casserole's gonna be gross.  
What really got me writing though was listening to Puppet Master: Finest Creation before going to bed and then dreaming of Thomas sawing off Michael's limbs. I wanted to portray the sheer terror of seeing that to you, the audience. Now, without further ado, I present Of Lace and Porcelain. The greatest fuckfest Zexal's going to see in awhile.

Departure

_ My three sons, _

_ I believe it is now the time for my departure. The memories have become far too burdensome for me. With a heavy heart, I shall distance myself from all of you. I wish each of you the best of luck in leading happy lives. You do not need a monster—nor a memory of a monster—looming over your bright futures. Please know that I give you the gift of a father’s mercy. _

_ Byron Tron Arclight _

The letter weighs heavily in Thomas’s hands. He rereads the letter, over and over again. In the background, his brothers are also grieving in their own ways. Michael looks at the note forlornly, trying not to cry. Christopher has focused his attention into a book, his lips ever so slightly trembling. Their living room is completely silent, save for the sounds of the grandfather clock. _ Tick. Tock. Tick…. _He wishes the clock would shut up. It was a constant reminder that time waited for no one. 

Slowly, he runs his fingers above the scar across his eye. The tingling feeling that always follows brings a rush of anger in his heart. His face had been disfigured in the name of saving their father. Despite it being longer than four years ago, the memories of the incident still burned fresh in his mind. In the desperate hopes that his real father would eventually return, he had sacrificed his own sanity. It had taken countless hours of therapy for him to stop feeling the flames of the accident and for the nightmares to cease their relentless nightly onslaughts. And it had all been in vain. 

Angrily crumpling up the letter, Thomas tosses it into the roaring fireplace. He watches the hungry flames lick at the paper, soon reducing it to nothing but ashes. Gasps follow from his brothers and he turns around to glare at them. He had almost killed someone for that man. On some nights, he could still hear her screams. They were not as vivid as before, but they still brought chills down his back. He had broken himself for that man, desperate to earn his recognition. Yet all he got in return was scorn.

And now that man was gone. Storming up the stairs, Thomas knocks down a family portrait. He remembers when they had taken that and grimaces. Three years ago, during the summer festival where they were trying to repair the broken pieces of their family. His father had praised his skills at the carnival games and that had put a smile on Thomas’s face for the rest of the day. As he walks past more pictures, the anger in his heart rises. _ How foolish he had been _. That masked creature had never been his father.

Slamming the door behind him, he walks into his room and falls into his chair. Across the table is Petunia, his mother’s seventh birthday gift to him. She was worn with age, which was a sign that she had been well played with. Her smile was fading, but her sculpted dimples remained. He had patched up her dress countless times throughout his youth and by now it was more patches than satin. When he had first received her, she had a full head of curly hair. Today the curls were gone and so was a significant amount of her hair. Even so, she was still beautiful to him.

_ If only his family could be like that. _ Eternally pleasant and beautiful.

Besides Petunia was Sylvia, another gift from his mother. She had been the second to last gift his mother would give him before she had passed away. Sylvia had not been played with as much, evident from her straight, platinum-blonde hair and dark velvet blue dress. As always, her blue eyes looked at him sternly. Unlike other dolls, she did not smile but instead seemed to frown in disapproval. Neat, long-haired and pale. Thomas thinks of Christopher and immediately scowls. 

Throughout his life, Christopher had looked down at him with condescension. He had never bothered to understand Thomas nor his hobbies. To Christopher, his brother was far too emotional and impulsive. Whenever Thomas did something, Christopher would always have something to say about it. At this point in his life, Thomas had stopped trying to please him. He was 21 years old for crying out loud, no longer the attention-needy teenager he was. 

Or so that was what he told himself. 

_ Creeaak... _Thomas turns his head and sees Michael hesitantly enter the room. It’s strange how it seemed just yesterday he was clinging to Thomas and crying at being abandoned at the orphanage. All vestiges of puppy fat had melted from Michael’s body, leaving him with a lithe and elegant form. But unlike Christopher, Thomas knew that beneath the deceptively trimmed form was a collection of hardened muscle. He had seen Michael spar with his sword in the garden and had come to the realization that Michael no longer needed his brothers’ protection. Yet he was still so gentle and naive at times that Thomas had to smile. In the end, he was still the youngest. 

“Are you alright?” murmurs Michael as he closes the door behind him. 

He warily steps over a pile of Thomas’s clothes and makes his way towards his brother.

“Fine,” mutters Thomas. 

Michael pulls out a seat besides Thomas and sits next to him. In return, he is given a glare and flinches at Thomas’s response. Immediately, Thomas starts to regret glaring at his favorite brother. 

“The news was...truly upsetting..,” begins Michael as he looks at Petunia and Sylvia. “Would you like to talk about it?” 

“No,” mumbles Thomas.

“I think it would help if—”

“Just leave me alone.”

He can see hurt fill Michael’s expression. Now Thomas feels even worse than before. Slowly, Michael stands up and pushes his chair back. He takes a look around Thomas’s room and the edges of his mouth form a small frown. 

_ So much like Chris. _

“You ought to clean up sometime..,” he murmurs as he picks up a pile of Thomas’s clothes. 

Before he leaves Thomas’s room, he sees a doll sitting crookedly at the edge of a shelf. It’s larger than the others and sports a deep green riding dress. Green eyes twinkle in the dim light and its brown hair is gathered in a jaunty ponytail. With one hand, Michael picks it up.

“I think it would be better if you placed mother’s dolls in a cleaner place. It doesn’t seem safe here, with all your—” 

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” shouts Thomas as he stands from his seat. 

The sudden outburst from Thomas startles Michael so badly that his entire body trembles. It happens in slow motion, him turning around to look at Thomas in fear and the shaking of his hands. His fingers lose their grip around the doll’s waist. Thomas can see the doll’s beautiful green eyes closing as she reaches the ground, as if she was prepared to meet her fate on the cold tile floor. Her beautiful face hits the cream tiles first and then the rest of her body follows shortly after. 

It’s a small crack that soon spreads across her entire porcelain face. One second, her face is a cobweb of cracks. Then her face is just a hole with jagged edges. Her chest makes the majority of the terrible shattering sound. Her arms are just shards now. The leather boots she wears leads up to cracked and broken legs. Pieces of porcelain are dispersed throughout the floor and when he looks back at the doll, she is no longer there. A pile of broken shards and fabric stare back at him. 

Looking back up at Michael, he realizes that his brother is still trembling in fear. And then time continues to normally flow again. Michael swallows hard and gives the doll’s remains a quick glance. He looks back up at Thomas and his eyes fill up with tears. His chin trembles as he speaks. 

“I...I’m sorry...I’m so so sorry...I’ll fix her. I promise. She’ll be as good as new,” blubbers Michael as he kneels down and picks up the shards. 

Before he knows it, his hand is cut and he’s begun to bleed over the doll’s dress. Thomas grimaces and walks briskly towards Michael. He grabs Michael’s shoulder and glares at him. 

“Rebecca was unique. She was specially made for mother and there’s no other doll like her in the world! How could you do this to her?! From the looks of it, this can’t even be repaired,” snaps Thomas. “You’ll need to find a replacement that’s as good as her.”

Tearfully, Michael shows Thomas his cupped hands. They’re covered in cuts, all bloody and red. His emerald green eyes are sparkling with tears, his fluffy lashes bringing even more attention to them. Pink soft lips tremble, the white, straight teeth beneath complimenting one of Michael’s best features. Unlike Christopher’s nose, which was far too long and sharp for Thomas’s tastes, Michael’s was perfect. A few pink curls have gotten into his eyes and Thomas can almost imagine their soft and silky feel. _ Better than any porcelain doll’s. _

“Throw those shards in the rubbish bin,” orders Thomas, his voice losing any trace of his previous outburst. 

“B-but…”

“_ Do it, _” commands Thomas. 

Meekly, his younger brother does as he is told. Returning to Thomas, Michael gasps as Thomas grabs his chin. Large, pretty eyes. Soft, curly hair. Smooth, pale skin. Cheeks reddened from crying. _ Such a pretty face his brother possessed. _If only it could stay like that forever. 

“You’re very cute. You know that?” breathes Thomas as he rubs his thumb across Michael’s tearstained cheek. 

“I...” Michael looks around wildly, panic fluttering in his chest. 

“Here, let me show you something,” says Thomas as he grabs Michael’s arm and proceeds to drag him out the door. 

“Wh...what are you doing..?” stammers Michael. 

Michael swallows hard. He doesn’t want to hurt his brother, but he will if he has to. Thomas turns back to him, his expression revealing nothing. Just as he feels Michael’s muscles tense up to pull away from him, he gives Michael a small smile.

“A secret passageway,” he replies. 

Just like when they were younger. He feels Michael’s arm relax and a flicker of excitement fill his eyes. The Arclight mansion was full of secrets, much to the delight of young Michael and Thomas. In the long hours spent waiting for their father to come home, the two had often explored the old Victorian mansion for its secrets. Decrepit passageways, rooms full of treasure, a dungeon...their youthful imagination spurred them on, despite finding only empty rooms and quiet passageways.

Now, Michael would have the pleasure of discovering another secret room. It was barely noticeable in the dim light of the hall across Thomas's room. A bump in the wall with some grooves were its only indicator. Besides it, a bookshelf featuring old dictionaries and encyclopedias sat, the worn books covered in a blanket of dust. Nonchalantly tipping towards a certain dictionary, he feels Michael stiffen.

“It’s just like a movie, isn’t it?” says Thomas, a wry smile playing on his features.

Michael’s shaky hands begin to still. The wall begins to painstakingly slide back. Loud creaking is heard as its hinges pull open. Slowly, the shadows of another room can be seen. Michael peers over his brother's shoulder and gasps. Giving his brother an apologetic look, Thomas gently leads Michael into the small passageway.

“I’ll need to oil that some time, don’t I?” chuckles Thomas as he walks in first. 

Once Thomas makes it through the narrow corridor with Michael in tow, he flicks on the switch. Cold air brushes against their cheeks. Blinking rapidly against the sudden bright light, Michael lets out another gasp when he can see again. Dolls, all bare and in all states of creation lay before him. They line the walls and shelves of the room, their empty expressions chilling to Michael. Unlike Thomas’s room, this room is neat and organized. The cold tile floor beneath his feet was a great contrast compared to the plush mahogany-colored carpet in the halls. Looking around, he realizes that this room was equivalent in size to the library.

Drawers, chairs and tables were spread across the room. On the tables were doll limbs in all shapes and sizes. Tools were dispersed among them. Michael looks back up at the shelves and notices that Thomas’s various projects were all lined up according to size. Some were the size of their mother’s doll, while some were smaller. In a corner, he sees the headless body of a life-sized doll. The uneasy feeling creeps up his back again and he looks back at Thomas for reassurance. Pride fills his brother’s expression and the sour mood that he was in before has completely vanished. Michael supposes that this was a good sign. At least it was better than getting in a physical fight. 

They both knew that he would win anyways. 

“Welcome to my workshop,” declares Thomas. “It’s where I go when I want some time alone and where I give in to my creative urges.”

It’s as if Thomas has become a delighted child, proudly showing off his newest playhouse. He squeezes Michael’s hand and walks him to the center of the room. Now, it seemed as if all of the dolls were staring at them. The eyeless dolls in particular made Michael uneasy. 

“When I first discovered this, it was a boorish sitting room. Perhaps our ancestors hosted illegal gambling events with their friends here. Unfortunately, the excitement had long gone when I discovered this place. It was covered in dust and cobwebs when I first came here. But with a bit of renovation, I was able to suit it to my needs. Quite impressive, isn’t it?” 

“Indeed..,” says Michael as he continues to take in the sights.

“Why don’t you stay here a bit and I’ll fetch us some tea? I want to tell you some stories.”

Not wanting to upset Thomas again, Michael forces a smile. 

“Sure,” he replies. “I’d love to hear them.” 

A smile fills Thomas’s face as he walks out of the passageway. When he makes it back into the hallway, he tips back the dictionary. Hearing the wall creak, Michael looks away from a doll’s limbless torso. As the door closes, his feeling of dread returns. What if Thomas just left him there to teach him a lesson? That had been his ultimate fear as a child and he couldn’t help but fall back onto that fear. 

Thomas could be kind. But he could also be terribly cruel. When they were younger, he had hidden Michael’s favorite artifact for days and only returned it to him after he cried and pleaded. In some cases, children were the most cruel of human beings. Oftentimes they were too immature to truly understand the impact of their actions. Too innocent to realize that they were causing genuine pain and strife. He thinks back to the time Thomas had ripped off a butterfly’s wings and laughed as the creature crawled across the floor. 

_ No _. Michael would hate it if he was left here, surrounded by eyeless sockets and headless bodies. Looking at the life-sized doll, he shivers when he sees how realistic it seemed. Despite its ball-jointed limbs, it still seemed as if it could start walking. There was no doubt about it. His brother was an artist. 

Walking around for awhile, he’s painfully aware of how loud his footsteps sound against the polished cement floor. He plunks himself down in a plush chair and closes his eyes. The lights buzz above him. Besides that, there is nothing but silence. And that is when his imagination begins to invade his reality. The dolls are whispering in his mind. Talking about him. Laughing. A shiver runs down his spine. _ Stop it, _ he thinks angrily. _ They’re just dolls. _

The dolls are laughing at him. They’re whispering about how he should stay with them forever. Thomas’s words echo in his mind and a cold sweat begins to fill his body. His brother’s magenta eyes were shining with excitement. The grip Thomas had on Michael’s chin had been firm and in a way, almost possessive. _ Come join us, Michael, _titter the dolls. 

Immediately opening his eyes, he looks around. The half finished dolls are just as before. Silent. Taking in a deep breath, he tries to calm himself. He was too paranoid. That must be it. _They’re just dolls, you silly goose, _he chides. What could Thomas do to him anyways? Closing his eyes again, Michael pushes away his fearful thoughts. _Calm down, _he thinks as he takes in three deep breaths. _He only wishes to have tea and a conversation. Just like the old days. Two of us in a newly discovered room, eating pilfered cookies and milk. Laughing. Having fun. _

_ But now you have both grown up. _

The words send a pang through Michael’s heart. They had missed quite a few years of their childhood. What he wouldn’t give to have his father back. Or the teasing, cheerful Thomas. The one that didn’t scream and barge into his room in the dead of the night begging for him to stop the pain. The one that wasn’t scarred and manipulated by Tron. It was a selfish wish, he knew it was. But he couldn’t help but miss the young boy he had often pursued down the halls of the Arclight mansion. The dolls are jeering at him for being so selfish.

_ Tsk, tsk are not all great artists broken in one way or another? _

Before he can answer, he hears the wall sliding away with its telltale creak. Thomas enters with a tea service in his hands. It’s then that Michael notices that the dolls have stopped whispering. With measured steps, Thomas makes his way towards Michael. Placing the tea on the table in front of them, he takes the seat facing his younger brother. Strangely, Michael notices that Thomas’s tea has already been poured for himself. 

“Will you ever finish all of these projects?” murmurs Michael. 

Thomas gives him a nonchalant shrug and pours tea into Michael’s teacup. 

“Who knows? Most of these are just experiments for bigger projects.”

He blows his tea and sips it slowly. Following suit, Michael looks around the room again. With Thomas’s presence, the dolls have become less creepy. The tea isn’t superb nor terrible and Michael takes another sip. Wrinkling his nose, he takes the spoon from the cup of sugar and puts three spoonfuls in his tea. 

“Why did you bring me here?” asks Michael quietly as he stirs his tea. 

His brother flashes him a radiant smile, his boyish charm shining through. Michael savors his tea and smiles uneasily. Well. At least the tea tasted a bit better.

“As I said before, I think you’d need to find a suitable replacement for Rebecca. And what better way to make a unique doll than to make one with me?”

_ Oh. _Michael takes another sip of his tea. 

“I don’t know anything about making dolls,’’ he begins timidly. “You’d just become cross with me.” 

Thomas shakes his head and refills Michael’s teacup. 

“Look, I’m sorry for shouting at you. Even if she was mother’s favorite, she was just a doll. You’ll help me make one that’s ten times better. I think you’re a very creative individual.” 

Michael takes a long gulp before continuing. _ Drat. _He’s forgotten to put in the sugar. Adding one more spoonful and stirring, Michael takes one tentative sip. Whenever he was nervous, he’d always end up rapidly drinking his tea in copious amounts. It was a habit he had never been able to rid himself of, but at least it wasn’t terribly destructive. Giving Michael a reassuring smile, Thomas pours his brother another cup. 

“Thank you,” mumbles Michael. 

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” soothes Thomas. “All you have to do is stay with me.” 

“What would I need to do? What would the doll look like?” asks Michael as he adds sugar to his third cup. 

“I’m thinking something cute. Like you,” says Thomas. 

“Oh, stop it,” chuckles Michael. “I’m far too old to be considered cute anymore.”

At 19 years old, he was quite proud of the fact that he was the best fencer on the university team. With a chuckle, Michael leans back in his chair. It was more comfortable than he thought it was and his smile remains on his face. 

“How do you feel about lolita dresses with all those cute ribbons and frills? I was thinking the dress could be modeled slightly off of Victorian fashion,” proposes Thomas. 

“It sounds absolutely lovely,” says Michael dreamily. “But have you ever had one based off of the ancient Aztec culture? _ That _ would be something I would love to see.”

A small smile fills Thomas’s face when he sees Michael’s dreamy expression. 

“I feel really happy whenever I’m with you. Did you know that?” asks Thomas as he looks down at his tea.

It takes all of Michael’s strength to muster up a smile in return. With those words, he feels his body relax. He takes another sip of his tea and feels his eyelids slightly droop. 

“I’m so excited to make one with you,” says Thomas gently.

“Are you?” asks Michael with a doubtful grin. 

Thomas nods. 

“Absolutely. The doll will be well taken care of. I’ll dress her and play with her every day,” promises Thomas.

“D’you promise?” slurs Michael. 

Thomas raises his right hand. 

“I promise.”

When did Thomas get so close? Michael feels his brother lifting the teacup to his lips. Obediently, he sips. 

“Now finish this cup,” whispers Thomas. 

He slowly drinks the liquid, his eyelids drooping lower and lower. Somehow, it had become difficult to think. Through his half closed eyes, he can see that Thomas’s cup of tea has only been halfway drunk. 

“How ‘bout you finish..?” slurs Michael. 

His brother gives him a sad smile and kisses Michael’s cheek. He pours Michael another cup of tea and slowly tips it into Michael’s parted lips. He knows that without the sugar, it tasted somewhat bland. He apologizes to Michael in his mind and continues to tip the tea in. 

_ Almost there, _a voice whispers in his head.

“You’ve grown up so much...I wish you could just be young and innocent again…,” breathes Thomas. 

Michael tries to laugh, but instead swallows a significant amount of tea. He wants to say the same thing but his body is wracked by coughs and for a moment, his mind is clear. _ Oh dear gods. _ Thomas had put something into his tea. Thomas had put _ something _ into his tea. His eyes widen at the realization, but before he can utter a sound, his eyes close and his body relaxes. The last word that escapes from his lips is a half-formed curse.

_ Now, to begin. _


	3. Incisions

Incisions

It will be a challenging task, cutting open the throat and removing the vocal cords. But it would be even more difficult to remove the appendages and attaching limbs that the body would accept. The words repeat in Thomas’s mind, over and over again. His hands begin to shake but he knows he has to do this. 

_ I can’t let him leave me. Ever.  _

His brother lays bare on the makeshift operating table, his chest rising and falling. The knives, scalpels, scissors, needles and thread were neatly arranged on the table besides Thomas, glimmering in the light. With a marker in his hands, Thomas begins to mark the area of incision on Michael’s throat. Slowly, the IV drips anesthetic into Michael’s body. It would hurt. He knew it would hurt. But it was necessary. 

_ He needs to stay with me.  _

Thomas’s hand continues to shake and he curses under his breath. He shouldn’t be nervous. Medial cut, then cut across the ends. Left to right. Two times. An “I” incision. Then fold back the skin. The old surgeon’s textbook sits next to him, its open pages yellowed with age. Flecks of blood dot the pages from long gone operations.  _ Most likely illegal organ acquisition,  _ thinks Thomas as he looks down at his scalpel. The Arclights had had quite a history with the underground of Heartland. But he would use these tools that once caused pain to create art. Yes. This was art.  _ Take deep breaths, Thomas. Do what you have to do,  _ whispers the voice in his head.  _ This will be your best doll. This is art. _

Soft pink curls, pale smooth skin, plump and healthy lips. Yes. Michael would make a lovely doll. Steeling himself, Thomas picks up the scalpel and makes the first incision along the line he drew. Blood begins to bead the pristine skin and Thomas winces.  _ It’s only temporary,  _ reassures Thomas to himself.  _ It’ll be over soon.  _ Left to right. Left to right. He parts the flaps on Michael’s throat and gulps at what he has to do next. 

Taking in a deep breath, he picks up another scalpel. His brother’s throat moved up and down with each breath he took. How beautiful it was, this miracle of life. Swallowing hard, Thomas begins the first incision. 


	4. Milk at Tea Time

Milk at Tea Time

He wakes up disoriented and lightheaded. There’s a burning pain in his throat and he winces. Slowly, he looks around and realizes that he’s been strapped to a table, naked. From the lifeless stares of Thomas’s incomplete projects, Michael knows that he is still in Thomas’s workshop. Opening his mouth to call for help, he is unable to say a thing. Only air escapes from his throat. 

Swallowing, Michael tries again to speak. The pain intensifies in his throat and he winces. Did the tea do all of this? He looks around wildly, hoping that someone, anyone would come and save him. Tears brim in his eyes. It must have been a dream. Surely. Or a prank. One of Thomas’s cruel pranks. Because he broke their mother’s favorite doll. Yes, that must be it. 

_ You’ll need to find a replacement as good as her.  _ Thomas’s words echo in his mind. Once again, the unfinished dolls have started to whisper.  _ Stop it with that bloody imagination of yours!  _ reprimands Michael in his head.  _ Come join us,  _ coos the dolls.  _ We’re lonely.  _ Michael’s breath catches in his throat and he wants to scream. But all that comes out is a panicked exhale. His breathing accelerates, intensifying the pain in his throat.  _ No, no, no...please stop... _ he begs to himself.  _ Think of other things. Of Yuma. Of father. Of our family from before… _

_ _ He struggles against his bonds to no avail. If he’d ever escape, he would make sure to lift more weights. His panicked breathing and the blood rushing in his ears are the only sounds he can hear.  _ Please don’t let me end like this... _ Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, Michael tries to wriggle his body and loosen the straps.  _ Surely someone will find me…What a bloody stupid prank. _

An interminable amount of time passes until he hears the sound of the door creaking open. Could that be Christopher?  _ Thump thump thump.  _ No. Christopher didn’t walk like that. His steps were more slow and elegant. Then it must be Thomas. Opening his eyes, Michael allows himself to swallow a bit, biting his lip at the pain that followed. When Thomas looms over him, Michael sees a glass of milk in his brother’s hand. He tries to communicate his feelings of anger and panic through his facial expressions, but his brother merely shakes his head. Gingerly, he undoes the strap around Michael’s arms and chest. With one hand, he sits Michael up with one hand supporting his back. There’s a hint of sadness in Thomas’s voice when he speaks next. 

“The difficult part comes soon.”

He angles his head to the life-sized doll in the corner. In the dim light, it looks even more horrifying than before. Its headless body seems to be ready to come to life at any moment, its limbs rattling as it walked. Michael looks away from it and receives a kiss on the forehead from Thomas. Rather than reassure him, the kiss brings a feeling of dread down Michael’s back. Tears begin to bead in his eyes. 

Looking into Thomas’s eyes, he searches his brother’s expression for any signs that this was all just an elaborate prank. Yet he sees no smile, no twinkling in his brother’s eyes. His lips begin to tremble.  _ Just what did he want? _

“Shh..,” soothes Thomas as he wipes away Michael’s tears. 

Tipping the glass of milk to Michael’s parched lips, he makes sure that every single drop is consumed. Thomas’s grim expression slowly changes to one of melancholy. 

“You’ve grown up so much,” begins Thomas. “Chris and I still can’t believe you’re 19 years old.”

Michael struggles to look at Thomas and sputters on his milk a bit. Thomas withdraws the glass and gently dabs away the liquid from Michael’s mouth. A sad smile creeps up Thomas’s lips. 

“But from now on, I won’t let you grow any older.”

The glass returns back to Michael’s mouth. No matter how much he struggles, he knows that his strength is weakening. Thomas holds his head firmly, forcing him to drink the milk. Michael’s eyelids begin to droop. When he looks down at the glass, he sees that no milk remains. His heart drops to his feet as darkness fills his vision.  _ Please don’t let me die like this.  _


	5. Rose

Rose

Light, albeit a bit dim, wakes him. Groggily opening his eyes, Michael is first met by a shelf of dolls staring at him. They aren’t the eyeless, limbless work in progresses of Thomas. These are the complete, beautiful ones. With their full heads of hair, elegant clothes and vibrant smiles, they put Michael’s heart at ease. He turns his head and sees that all of the walls have shelves with dolls on them. Most of them are seated, but a few are posed specifically based on their outfit. The smiling horseman in the corner, for example, was in the process of putting the reins on his horse. It’s then that he realizes where he is.  _ Ah _ . His mother’s doll room. When was the last time he had been here? He can barely remember…

Looking out at the sunlight flickering through the curtains, Michael smiles. Perhaps it had all been a dream. But when he swallows, the pain in his throat returns and panic returns to his chest. He tries to take a step forward and fights down panic as his legs remain still. Looking down, he sees that he is being held in place. Two silver clasps wrap around his torso and he frowns at the uncomfortable pressure against his flesh. When he tries to pry himself from the clasps, horror takes away his breath as his arms remain just as immobile as his legs. And then he realizes that he can’t feel any of his limbs. 

Trying to move his body, he can only feel down to his hips. Just what was he wearing, anyways? He looks down and sees a pink skirt trimmed with lace. He can’t see his legs from over the skirt and feels the panic intensify. What must have been a hairband dug into his hair and he immediately dislikes the feel of it. Angling his eyes towards where his arm supposedly was, he sees a delicate hand gloved in white lace. Connected to a ball-joint. Which must have been connected to his shoulder.  _ Oh gods. _

He wants to scream but when he tries to, only a broken exhale escapes his throat.  _ No, no, no _ ...Surely his arm was somewhere...So were his legs...Surely they were still there. Yes, soon he would be able to feel them again and he would be able to escape and confront Thomas. Or so that was what he told himself. The urge to panic and shake his body was overwhelming, yet he forced himself to remain calm. This was just a bad dream. Yes. That was all. He would be awake in no time. 

Before he can think any further, Thomas opens the door with a tray of breakfast in his arms. 

“Good morning my lovely darling!” calls Thomas cheerfully as he places the tray on the table. “How are we this fine morning?” 

He frees Michael from the clasps and places him at the table. Turning to see what he had been freed from, Michael’s stomach lurches when he sees the life-sized doll stand. Looking down at the assortment of pastries and fruit, Michael feels sick. He still can’t move any of his limbs, yet his mind is beginning to clear. Perhaps...this wasn’t a dream. 

Noticing Michael’s distress, Thomas rushes over and holds what is supposedly Michael’s hand. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry and he affectionately strokes Michael’s arm. None of this can be felt by Michael and he swallows hard. Thomas then moves down to the ball-jointed legs and bends them down to the floor. The pink skirt smoothes out and Michael can finally see his legs. His knees have been replaced by ball joints identical to the ones at his elbows. They looked just like the limbs from the doll in Thomas’s workshop. Michael looks at them and then at Thomas in panic. He’s met by a smile from his brother. 

“You don’t need limbs of flesh anymore. You’re my precious doll now,” says Thomas gently. “I’ll give you everything you’ll need.”

He picks up the teapot and pours it into a delicate china teacup. Then he puts in three spoonfuls of sugar and stirs it around.  _ Clink clink clink.  _ The sound of the spoon hitting against the chinaware makes Michael sick to his stomach. Lifting the spoon to Michael’s lips, Thomas looks at him affectionately. 

“Just the way you like it. Isn’t that right?”

With a heavy heart, Michael swallows. It’s painful to do so and tears bead in his eyes. Spoonful by spoonful, he’s made to swallow the tea. How had something he once loved so much become such torture? He looks at Thomas, begging him to stop. 

“Not in the mood for tea? That’s odd,” notes Thomas as he sets the teacup down.

He picks up a pastry and offers it to Michael. Shaking his head, Michael continues to look at Thomas with pleading eyes. His brother looks at him in concern.

“Please. You need to eat. You haven’t eaten in four days.”

Four days? Was that how long he had been gone? Just how…? Didn’t Christopher notice anything? Reluctantly, he opens up his mouth and accepts the pastry. Slowly, he begins to chew. It tastes too sweet but he can’t protest. As it slides down his throat, he tries to let out a whimper. Tears slide down his cheeks and a choked sob escapes his throat. Thomas frowns and pats his cheek. 

“It’ll take awhile to get used to, but before you know it, you’ll love it here,” reassures Thomas. 

Michael is forced to take another bite. He feels his tears trickle down his face and suppresses a hiccough. What did he do to deserve such a thing? The thought of never being able to walk or use his hands again terrifies him. He wants to break out into loud sobs, but he’s only capable of choked exhales. 

Thomas gently wipes away Michael’s tears with a handkerchief. He holds Michael close to his chest and runs his hands down Michael’s back. As he whispers reassurances into his brother’s ear, he feels a twinge in his heart. Whenever Michael cried, his heart always hurt. He was the youngest and the need to protect him filled Thomas’s heart. The warmth of his brother’s body was soothing, save for the cold and hard new limbs. 

Looking at his work, the ball jointed elbows shine white in the morning light. Setting Michael back in his chair, he readjusts Michael’s arms. Folding them into his lap, Thomas resumes back to feeding him. He smiles when the sobbing subsides. Michael was still so beautiful, even after crying. Betrayed eyes, deep in mourning for lost limbs and trembling lips were such a lovely sight to Thomas. Michael’s face, red from crying made him look even lovelier. It’s then that Thomas is determined to have tea parties with this doll every day, both of them surrounded by flowers and music. 

Picking up the teacup again, he gently lifts it to Michael’s lips. 

“It’s your favorite,” whispers Thomas. “Chamomile tea.”

Michael sips, tears sliding down his cheeks. 

  
  



	6. Into the Collection

Into the Collection

“I think it’s about time Michael leaves his room. I understand that he’s mourning...we all are...but..,” Christopher trails off in the midst of his lunch, looking down at his plate. 

Thomas pauses, midway through chewing. Ah, yes. Michael. The name of the person that used to be his brother. He made such an adorable doll, with his large eyes and slim body. His chest flutters with excitement at the thought of coming back to him. 

“He’ll come out eventually,” murmurs Thomas. “I’m sure he will.”

Christopher nods slowly, his eyes searching Thomas’s expression. 

“I’m just wondering...did you say anything to him on the day we received that note? I remember the last time I saw him, he was headed to your room to talk to you,” muses Christopher. 

“Yes, and I kicked him out,” mutters Thomas.

“He was only worried about you..,” murmurs Christopher.

Finishing up the remainder of his meal, Thomas swipes his hands clean and stands up. 

“Some people need to care less.”

His doll needed to be fed now. As he begins to walk upstairs, he’s dismayed to find Christopher following him. Thomas turns around, grimacing. 

“Shouldn’t you be washing the dishes?” growls Thomas. 

“That can wait. It isn’t like they’ll be going anywhere. Besides, our brother is a priority. He’s been shut in his room for five days now and I’m beginning to worry.”

Thomas nearly snorts at that. It was such a faulty lie. Surely Christopher would have suspected something. But the sudden departure of their father must have derailed his thought process. 

“Late at night I hear him coming down to eat. He’s probably fine,” lies Thomas as he heads towards his room. 

He feels Christopher’s gaze on his back as he enters his room. Quickly, he locks the door. Walking towards the doll table, he removes Sylvia from her seat and places her on the shelf. Then he places a different doll in her place. _ There. Much better. _The new doll was more cheerful than dour Sylvia and she seemed like a better companion for Petunia. He turns to face Michael in the corner of the room and smiles. He’s fallen asleep on his stand, surrounded by his fellow dolls. 

Such a precious thing...Slowly, Thomas walks towards Michael, not wanting to wake him up. Cupping his brother’s face in his hands, Thomas feels a tremor go through Michael’s body. His green eyes immediately open and fear fills them. As gently as possible, Thomas frees him from the doll stand and rests him on his bed, making hushing murmurs as he does so. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks Michael. 

He’s answered by a slow shake of the head. Thomas sighs and brushes his finger against Michael’s throat. The stitches still appear fresh against the red scar. Michael stiffens at the contact and tries to back away. 

“Sshh..,” hushes Thomas as he pulls Michael back. “What do you want?”

Michael’s eyebrows are furrowed in worry. He mouths a few words to Thomas but Thomas shakes his head in incomprehension. With a finger, he pushes against Michael’s chin and hushes him. Those pink lips that he loved so much curves into tremulous frown. Michael shakes his head and tries to back away from Thomas once more. 

“Now, now...no need to get fussy..,” says Thomas as he sits next to Michael, supporting his body. 

More words are mouthed, more desperate than last time. A sigh escapes Thomas’s lips and he shakes his head. He gives Michael a kiss on his cheek and straightens out his lacy skirts. Retying the ribbons of the bonnet, he pulls away and frowns at Michael’s tearful expression. Before he can stop him, Michael mouths another set of words. This time, Thomas can understand it clearly and his posture shifts. _ Why? _

“You don’t understand, do you?” asks Thomas as he leans in closer.

He holds Michael’s rouged cheeks in both of his hands. The fear has returned in his brother’s eyes. Thomas’s eyebrows are furrowed in worry, a weak attempt at a cheerful smile fills his face. When he speaks, his voice is low and shaky. Despite trying to keep his calm, desperation edges his words.

“I hated how you were growing up so fast. Soon, you’d leave us. I couldn’t have that. I want you to be here, forever with me. And that’s why...that’s why I did this. So we can stay together. Forever. And you’re so cute and pretty and I’ll take care of you every single day, wash your hair, play with you and...and…” 

The fear multiplies in Michael’s expression. His entire body trembles in helplessness. Yet his arms and legs remain still, like how they should be. Thomas strokes the plastic limbs and looks up at Michael’s panicked expression. _ No. Please no... _ mouths Michael as tears fill his eyes. _ Please… _

Roughly, Thomas brushes the tears away with his thumb. His expression has grown firm. 

“You’ll learn to love this..,” he murmurs. 

The doll’s face has become smeared with eyeliner. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and takes out a handkerchief to wipe its face. Off come the painted lips. Off comes the blush. Michael looks up at him in desperation, tears still streaming down his face. Thomas frowns and picks him up. He then places him at the small table, with Petunia and Sylvia. The miniature tea set looks up at Michael mockingly. 

“Stop,” commands Thomas as Michael lets out an airy sob. “_ I said stop, _” repeats Thomas with a hint of anger. 

Michael attempts to stifle his sobs as his arms and legs are readjusted. One hand is bent around a teacup. The other is resting in his lap. _ Those weren’t his limbs. _He looks in front of him and sees the cheerful smile of the new doll. It was as if she was welcoming him into the collection. His lips quiver and he swallows hard when he notices that Thomas is looking at him again. A hiccough escapes him but nothing else. After a few moments of silence, a smile spreads across Thomas’s face.

“Much better. Now I will go get your lunch. Would you like that?”

A sob threatens to break free. Michael bends his head down and quickly nods. He doesn’t look up until Thomas has left the room. When he looks in the nearby mirror, the tears threaten to spill over again. With his hair neatly arranged in curls, his clean little shoes and his frilly confection of a dress, he looked as if he was a mere decoration. Had Thomas placed him in a room full of stuffed toys and similar looking dolls, he would have fit in perfectly. For once, he’s happy to be in Thomas’s room. At least there wasn’t as many reminders of what he was turned into as in the doll room.

He looks in the mirror again and is almost frightened by his expression. His eyes are glazed over in exhaustion. His cheeks slightly pink from crying. Yet his lips remain pink, his eyelashes still long and fluffy and his eyebrows still angled ever so prettily. It was like one of those melancholy porcelain dolls that were made to resemble bored Victorian children. The oversized bonnet didn’t help, nor did the room’s antique furnishings. 

Condemned to an eternal childhood. Yes. That was what Thomas had done to him. A never ending fairytale of tea parties and forced smiles. Petunia looks at him with her usual smile, as if she were reassuring him that he would be just as well-loved as her. The thought runs a shiver down Michael’s spine. Every day he would be dressed, bathed and fed however Thomas pleased. And he would be aware of every single moment, unable to move or say a thing. Just like a doll.


	7. Into the Lion's Maw...

Into the Lion's Maw...  


Five days. He supposes that’s a little suspicious. But grief can bring forth unexpected actions. With the back of his fist, Christopher gently raps on Michael’s door. 

“Michael? Are you alright? It’s been five days and I would like to know if you are still in your room or not,” says Christopher. 

Silence answers him. After waiting for a few more moments, Christopher sucks in a deep breath. When was the last time he had comforted any of his brothers…? 

“I’m coming in,” he announces as he turns the knob. 

As always, Michael’s room is bursting with artifacts. With this many things in his room, one would expect it to be extremely disorganized. But it never was. The artifacts were either in display cases or on shelves, neatly labelled and grouped according to time period or place of origin. In the center of it all lay Michael’s bed, always impeccably made. This time, it was no different. Frowning, Christopher opens up Michael’s curtains. He stifles a sneeze as dust fills the room. 

No. Michael would never let such a thing happen. Arguably, his room was one of the cleanest in the Arclight mansion. 

“Michael?” calls Christopher, raising his voice. 

He looks around the room, looking in corners and behind large pieces of furniture. Panic begins to fill his chest. No...no...Michael couldn’t have run away. He couldn’t have! Walking over to Michael’s desk, he sees the bracelet on the polished wood and gulps. His brother would never go anywhere without his communication device. Opening up the drawers in Michael’s desk, he finds that everything is still as neatly organized and clean as ever. Running over to the closet, he opens up the doors and looks inside. Not a single clothes item off the hook. He wasn’t that surprised. His brother often borrowed his friends’ clothes during impromptu sleepovers when he was younger. Perhaps that habit still followed him.

Christopher gives the room a once-over again, the panic increasing with each time he called Michael’s name to no reply.

“Michael! Answer me!” shouts Christopher. 

Still, there is nothing. Closing Michael’s door behind him, he runs into Thomas, heading down the stairs. 

“Michael isn’t in his room!” he says, fighting to keep down the panic in his voice. “Do you have any idea where he could be…?”

If Thomas found out that Michael had run away...The thought brings a shiver through Christopher’s body. They had already lost their father. If they lost their younger brother…who knew how Thomas would cope? But instead of worry, surprise fills Thomas’s expression. 

“He’s not? Maybe check the other rooms,” suggests Thomas as he proceeds to walk down the stairs.

“Will you help me?” asks Christopher as he sees Thomas continue to walk away. 

“Sure. I just...need to take care of some business.”

Christopher watches Thomas’s back recede. Frustration wells up in his chest. 

“What could ever be more important than looking for you brother?!” he snaps. “Come back here!”

Slowly, Thomas turns around. 

“He’s fine. I know,” he says calmly.

“How?!”

“I just do.”

It takes all of Christopher’s self control to not shout at Thomas in frustration. He balls his hands into fists and walks back down the hallway, beginning his search. The first room is their father’s room. When he opens the door, a cloud of dust attacks him and he sneezes. A musty smell permeates his senses, the remainders of their father’s cologne before the betrayal. The smell brings back a plethora of memories and Christopher smiles a bit. How happy they had been. 

The windows are grimy with dirt, the bedsheets most likely containing a storm of dust. No one had been in this room for years. After returning from Barian World, Tron had no need to sleep. Anger and hatred fueled him on, eliminating any form of activities that wouldn’t contribute to his revenge. It was eerie how it seemed as if his father was about to step in at any time, his warm voice filling the walls. How he would lament the state of his room! Looking around, Christopher is sure that he is the first person who has come here in years. No. Michael would not be in here, amidst the dirt. 

He leaves the room and its memories for another day, closing the door behind him. A stretch of doors fills the hallways and he prepares himself. If Michael still had not been found by the end of today, he would call the Tsukumos. And then the authorities if Michael was not with Yuma. 

It isn’t until three hours later that he’s finished searching the upper floor for his younger brother. Yet there is still nothing. Thomas had promised to search the basement after dinner and Christopher sighs. Dinner. Perhaps he should cook Michael’s favorite meal in hopes of luring him out. 

  
*************************************************************************************************** 

They eat in silence, the third plate at the table still untouched. Christopher looks at Thomas in frustration. How could he be so calm? He finishes the rest of his food, the sound of his fork scraping against the dishes the only sound heard. Once he’s finished, he dabs at his mouth with the napkin from his lap and stands up. Thomas looks at him nonchalantly. 

“I have done my duty for today. Now it’s your turn to wash the dishes,” he says as he pushes back his chair. 

Thomas is about to roll his eyes until Christopher stops him with a glare. He holds his brother’s gaze for a few moments and then turns away with a grunt. Finishing the rest of his food, he hears Christopher walk upstairs to shower. The eldest Arclight turns on the lights to the stairs and frowns. The photo Thomas knocked over a few days ago hangs crookedly on the wall, its glass covering cracked. He’d have to reframe it sometime. 

At night, the upper floor of the Arclight mansion seemed straight out of a gothic novel. The multiple decorations and portraits of ancestors cast long shadows on the wallpaper. Even if one turned on all the lights in the hallway, there would still be corners where the lights would not be able to reach. At night, he notices the peeling wallpaper more. Same with the fraying carpet. There’s fingerprints on the windows. Pulling the curtains closed, he notices that the door to Thomas’s room has been left ajar. _ The only place I haven’t bothered to look, _he thinks as he approaches the door. He hesitates before entering, feeling utterly stupid. If Michael was in here, wouldn’t have Thomas told him? Nonetheless...

When he enters the room, he turns on the lights and grimaces. He only entered Thomas’s room whenever it was necessary. And now he remembers why. Unlike his and Michael’s rooms, Thomas’s room was disorganized. Clothes littered the floor here and there. His desk was covered in fan letters that he would never reply to. Why he never discarded any of them was a mystery to Christopher. Perhaps his fans’ words of encouragement and love warmed him a bit, even if they had no idea of his true character. Like a weak flame, he would be warmed for a few moments, but then the biting cold would return. 

_ Such a fate is Thomas’s _, muses Christopher melancholically. 

Unlike the rest of the room, the dolls lining the shelves are immaculate. In the middle of Thomas’s room is a white table with a lace cloth. It stands out like a pristine beacon in the middle of the ocean of chaos and Christopher is drawn towards it. On his way through, he picks up a few articles of clothing and makes a note to do the laundry tomorrow. The table features an elegant tea set, crafted to fit the porcelain dolls’ hands, save for one. Since when did Thomas get such a large doll? It seemed almost as large as Michael. At the sight of its intricate dress, newly polished shoes and bonnet, Christopher’s displeasure deepens. He needs to tell Thomas not to spend so much on such frivolous things. 

As he faces the doll, unease creeps up his back. It has pink and brown curls, just like his brother. When he sees its face, he lets in a sharp breath. _ Oh yes _, he should definitely tell Thomas to spend less on such fripperies. Making a doll that resembled his younger brother was going too far. The doll’s eyes are closed, but Christopher knows that they will be green when opened. It’s a fine piece of work, he must admit. But it looks too realistic to be a doll and he finds that fact irksome. Its ball jointed arms are neatly arranged on the table, one hand cupped around a tea cup. 

Hesitantly, Christopher touches the arms. _ Plastic. _ But the doll’s throat seems to be made of a different material...Were those stitches? When he lifts his hand away from the arms, the doll’s eyes open. Stifling a scream, Christopher jumps back, his heart in his throat. Emerald green eyes look at him in surprise. The doll’s lips open and mouth at him. _ Brother? _Its lips tremble and nausea fills Christopher’s chest. 

That’s no doll. That’s truly Michael. He quickly unties the bonnet and runs his hand down Michael’s face. 

“Are you alright?” he whispers panickedly. “What did he do to you? I’ve been looking for you all day and…”

Michael looks at him with pain in his eyes and shakes his head. He looks down at his throat and at his limbs in misery. Gently unbuttoning the front of the dress, Christopher sees the full extent of the stitches up and down Michael’s throat. With trembling hands, he peels down one shoulder of the dress. His blood runs cold as the flesh stops and is replaced by a ball joint. Shakily putting back the dress on Michael’s shoulder, Christopher hesitantly feels Michael’s stockinged legs. Plastic. Running his hand up the leg, it’s completely solid and cold. It isn’t until he reaches Michael’s hips that he can feel flesh again. Tears well in Christopher’s eyes. His younger, precious brother. Mutilated.

He gives Michael a brief kiss on the forehead and holds him close. Running his hand up and down Michael’s back in a soothing motion, his thoughts race wildly in his mind. _ No...Thomas wouldn’t have done such a thing...would he? This...this was impossible. _With difficulty, he lifts Michael up and seats him on Thomas’s unmade bed. 

“It’s going to be better soon. I...I promise,” he vows to Michael as he musters up a weak smile. 

Michael looks at him in doubt. How could have Christopher forgotten? Michael was 19 years old. But to him, Michael would always be the little boy in need of guidance. No matter how old he was. As his older brother, he was supposed to protect him. Kneeling down, he runs his hands down Michael’s arms and shivers. He still can’t believe his eyes. He doesn’t even know what he’s promising. Thomas couldn’t have done this. He would never harm Michael. Not voluntarily. 

Christopher’s smile wavers as he sees Michael’s eyes widen. Before he can turn around, he feels something hard shatter against his head. Darkness quickly envelopes his senses.


	8. ...And Into the Realm of the Dead

...And Into the Realm of the Dead

_ Oh, poor Sylvia.  _ The remains of the fair-haired doll lay shattered amongst Christopher’s hair, blood already beginning to dye the silver strands. He had run out of options and panicked. Anyone could have seen that. He couldn’t have allowed Christopher to take his newest doll away from him. Looking up, he can see the absolute horror in Michael’s face. His painted lips are parted open in an “o” and his eyes are wide in fear. Trembling in fear, Michael can no longer hold his body up and falls on his back. 

Rushing to Michael, he pushes Michael back against the wall and seats him up. Fear continues to fill Michael’s face and he looks down at Christopher. 

“I had to do this,” presses Thomas. “He was going to take you away from me.” 

He looks down at his brother’s unconscious form. Those long limbs, that pale skin, that long hair... _ The shards of Sylvia are almost the same color as Christopher’s pale hand _ . He wonders what kind of doll his brother would make and immediately shakes his head. No. He couldn’t do that. Not after what he had done to Michael. The memory of his bloodstained hands and the arms and legs preserved in formaldehyde fill his mind and he shivers.  _ No _ . 

_ Elegant...cold and refined. Regal... _ the whispers in the back of his mind rise to the front. The artist in him is eager for a new project, but his other side, the Arclight brother side, vehemently protests against this idea. But he had to do something with his elder brother on the floor, bleeding out beneath his feet. 

_ It’s either to the workshop or the dump,  _ whispers the artist. 

He couldn’t let such beauty go to waste. 

_ Maybe you could explain to him,  _ suggests the Arclight brother.  _ Actually, who am I kidding? It’s Chris.  _

The workshop it is. 

Although his brother’s face is covered by hair, he can imagine his proud expression. Looking at the other porcelain dolls, they seemed to mourn Sylvia’s loss. Inspiration strikes him and he suppresses the protesting voice inside of his mind. A queen. That’s what his newest doll will be. 

Ideas flood his mind, from the dresses the new doll would wear to the construction of the delicate porcelain limbs. This would be a suitable replacement for Sylvia, he just knows it. A small smile creeps up his lips. Michael looks at him warily. Swinging Christopher over his shoulder, he hears a soft groan from his brother. After a few steps, Thomas is forced to readjust Christopher and take in a few deep breaths. Despite his lanky exterior, Christopher is a lot heavier than Thomas expected. Painstakingly, he carries his brother into the workshop and lays his body onto the table. 

Blood still trickles down Christopher’s head. At this moment, Christopher almost seems dead compared to the lively shade of red his hair was dyed. Grabbing a nearby cloth, Thomas wipes away what he can. He wrinkles his nose in distaste as the metallic smell fills the room. He’d have to saw off those beautiful limbs, won’t he? Those lovely, delicate arms and legs. How he loved it whenever Christopher played the piano! His long fingers seemed to dance all over the keys, tapping out an exquisite melody. But if he replaced them with porcelain, he knows that he would never be able to witness such a beautiful sight again. 

But he can’t let Christopher run away and take Michael with him. He’ll need to make the porcelain limbs even better than Christopher’s own arms of flesh and blood. They would need to be lifelike, but still recognizable as a porcelain doll’s. Every finger would need to be sculpted with utmost precision. Not a single bend would be out of place. The nails would need to be identical. Teardrop shaped, just like Christopher’s current set of nails. And there would be no joints. One regal pose for the rest of his life. The thought of a challenge ignites Thomas’s heart. Strapping his brother down, he pulls out a pair of gloves and takes a deep breath. This would be a doll not only for him, but for other dolls. Their queen. He’d need to make this perfect. 


	9. Beached Whale

Beached Whale

Slowly, Christopher opens his eyes. A sharp pain fills the back of his head and he lets out a cry. Where was he…? Looking around, he realizes that he has never been in this room. _Well that’s strange, _he notes. _Almost_ _20 years in this house and there’s still places I haven’t been in. _When he tries to get up, he sees the straps that bind his body and…

His arms and legs are nowhere to be seen. He can feel his heart beat faster and the bile rising towards his throat. All he can see are his hips and his shoulders.  _ Oh gods.  _ It can’t be true. This must be some nightmare derived from his terrible cooking. It just can’t be true. The memories of Michael resurfaces and he lets out a whimper. Was that when he started dreaming? Did he fall asleep at the table?

He remembers how Michael’s eyes widened in their final moments. And then something heavy crashing against his head. In spotty visions, he remembers the sensation of being carried over someone’s shoulder. And then...a saw. Something cutting away at him. A whimper escapes from his throat. No. This couldn’t be true. This can’t be his fate. Swallowing, he calls for Thomas. When only echoes answer him, the panic multiplies. 

“Thomas…! Please…! Wherever you are! Anyone?!” shouts Christopher.

What if he was abandoned here, left to die just like an abandoned toy? He continues to shout for a few minutes, but the only result is a parched throat. With only the sound of his labored breathing, Christopher’s mind begins to drift back into the moments before he was knocked out. Before he fainted, someone—most likely Thomas—had hit him on the back of his head with something that broke. That’s why the back of his head hurt so much. It was right after he found Michael, whose limbs had been replaced with plastic ball-jointed ones. As if he were a doll.

The panic further increases and he prepares to shut down.  _ Returning to the darkness would mean not needing to think. Or panic. Not needing to meet the unsavory fate that awaited him. Perhaps even waking up.  _ And then he hears the door open. Struggling to see who it is, Christopher can only pray that someone is there to save him. 

“You’re awake,” says Thomas.

Christopher feels his heart plummet.  _ Awake. This was real.  _ Rounding the table, Thomas gazes down at his brother.

“What have you done?” whispers Christopher, no longer able to control his panic. “Why are you doing this to me?! Have you any idea what this could do to us?! Send us to a hospital immediately and perhaps they’ll—”

_ There he goes _ , sneers a contemptuous voice in Thomas’s head. Always commanding him, back and forth with that imperious nature of his. Thomas looks at his brother’s torso struggling uselessly against the straps in contempt. It’s fitting, the doll that he will be made into. A queen, always commanding, always in a position of power. But after this, Christopher will never tell him what to do again. Instead, it will be Thomas who will be dictating his every move. 

“Do you hear me?!” snaps Christopher, his face red in anger. “THOMAS!”

“It’ll take a few weeks for me to perfectly sculpt your new limbs,” says Thomas quietly. “They’ll be made of the finest porcelain.” 

Christopher swallows hard, his anger threatening to fizzle out as the fear creeps in. He can’t be reduced to a mere doll. He can’t be forced into this. This shouldn’t be happening to him. His chin begins to tremble and he blinks back his tears. Noticing his brother’s distress, Thomas gives him a reassuring smile. 

“They’ll love you. You’ll be their queen. I’ll buy you the finest dresses and style your hair every day. How would you feel about looking like Marie Antoinette? You’re already so lovely that it won’t be that hard..,” reassures Thomas cheerfully. 

The tears threaten to spill over but Christopher refuses to cry in front of Thomas. This still felt too awful to be reality.

“Why are you doing this to us…?” he breathes. 

Thomas’s smile falters and he strokes his brother’s cheek. 

“So you can’t run away from me again,” he replies quietly.

He would never forget that day. The sun was setting on a cold autumn day. It was almost winter, a time he had always looked forward to. But that year was different. Dead leaves stirred about on the cobblestone streets. Orange dyed the buildings and the clocktower in the background chimed for 5 o’clock.  _ Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. Ding... _ And his brothers were being led away by the orphanage’s manager. The urge to run towards them and reassure their crying faces was overpowering, but he forced himself to remain there. 

Not a single tear was shed in front of them, for that had always been his personal rule. He was the eldest brother. He must be strong in times of adversity in order to set a good example. Of course, when he no longer heard the cries of Thomas and Michael, he had immediately burst into tears and cried himself to sleep on a park bench. 

“I didn’t have a choice…!” protests Christopher as he recalls the painful memory. “If I could have taken you two with me, I would have but—”

“You didn’t,” says Thomas, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Christopher closes his lips and presses them into a thin line in order to stop them from trembling. He wants to scream his throat raw in frustration, but that would only expose himself further to Thomas. A moment of silence passes by with Thomas staring down at Christopher as if he were an insect under a magnifying glass. The feeling of being observed sends shivers crawling up Christopher’s spine. He turns his head away and tries to keep the tears at bay. 

_ Skkkrrt.  _ The scratching sound of metal against metal sends a chill down Christopher’s spine. Reluctantly, he turns back to Thomas and sees the scissors gleaming in his brother’s hand. 

“What are you—”

Quietly, Thomas takes a lock of Christopher’s hair in his hand and caresses it with his two fingers. He looks down at it with a tender expression and places it on his lips. 

“It’s so soft and silky. I always admired how carefully you tended to it. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to give it the exact same care as you did,” promises Thomas.

With the scissors, he cuts the lock of hair and leaves the room without another word. 


	10. Pastel-Colored Carousel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys know that I’m making these titles moments before I upload the chapters and only after skimming the chapter for 3 seconds. Going through the list of chapter titles so far, they just sound like a bunch of titles from a washed out artist’s comeback album after they’ve hit the bong a few times too often. (Hits my own blunt)

“Aren’t you excited? Soon, the three of us will be together again,” says Thomas as he pours Michael his favorite tea. 

Michael looks down at the amber liquid in silence. First him, now Christopher. No one deserved this. What if Thomas grew bored of them? What would happen then? Would they be placed on shelves and left to rot? The thought of such a thing made Michael want to scream. Thomas’s temper was also another thing to fear. If he showed his disgust too much, Thomas would get angry. And that would lead to nothing good. The best option was just to smile and nod, no matter what he did to him. 

He looks at Thomas and gives him a small smile, despite the fear that was eating away at him. This was their family now. Sometimes, he even wonders if Thomas still saw him as Michael and not a doll. He sees Thomas happily eating a cookie with the sunlight streaming behind him and is reminded of the past. The same boyish smile was on his brother’s face, showing off his dimples. Not much has changed, now that he thinks of it. Thomas was still a bit of a child at heart, but now with a bit of a darker undertone. 

“The new doll is going to be a queen. Just like Marie Antoinette. I’m going to fill a whole closet full of fancy dresses and shoes. She’ll be so beautiful alongside you, I just can’t wait,” says Thomas giddily. “You two will have so much fun together…”

Michael’s smile wavers. The thought of Christopher being imprisoned just like he was terrified him. He had seemed so strong, never allowing anything to affect him. But he knows that this would break Christopher just like it had broken him. His eldest brother, once a pillar he had leaned against for support—broken. Just what has his world come to? 

The teacups clink against the china plates and the sound of Thomas chewing his food fills the room. After every few bites or so, he would feed Michael from his own plate. It was degrading, being fed like a child but what else could he do? The other option was to starve, but Thomas would never allow that. He affectionately strokes Michael’s face and looks into Michael’s eyes. Sadness fills them, despite the smile pasted on Michael’s lips. In response, Thomas frowns. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

_ My limbs have been sawed off and replaced with doll limbs. Every day I am put into uncomfortable dresses and forced to endure your unwanted displays of affection. Oh and have I forgotten to mention that I’m expected to be happy about this?! Bloody hell…! What kind of brother would do this?!  _ thinks Michael. Had he not feared for his life, he would have angrily mouthed at Thomas until all the anger in his heart had drained. But he merely closes his eyes and shakes his head. To distract Thomas, Michael opens his mouth in a plea to be fed. 

“You’re just hungry?” chuckles Thomas with a relieved smile. “Alright then.”

The pastry enters Michael’s mouth and he takes a bite out of it. Cream smears his chin and he blushes involuntarily. 

“You’re so cute,” purrs Thomas as he swipes away the cream with his finger. 

He licks the cream from his finger and kisses Michael’s cheek. He doesn’t see Michael’s grimace as his lips brush against Michael’s skin. The unwanted kissing and touching had increased the past few days, much to Michael’s discomfort. Before, Thomas only kissed him on the forehead as a show of reassurance. Those kisses always made Michael feel better, especially when he was ill. It was a sign that Thomas cared for him.

But these kisses were of a different nature. He sensed the need in them. The lust. Every time Thomas did it, it took all of Michael’s self control to not turn away in disgust. It wouldn’t take long for Thomas to move onto his lips. Often, Thomas had noted their plumpness and healthy color. Every morning, he would run the lipstick over Michael’s lips with the utmost care. Whenever he was dissatisfied, he would dab away the lipstick and start all over again.  _ They’re your best feature. I need to make sure they look perfect,  _ said Thomas once when Michael rolled his eyes. 

Thomas pulls away from him and Michael finally takes in a breath of air. Unease crawls up and down his back as he’s continued to be fed. Playfully, Thomas trails his hand up Michael’s plastic thigh. Although Michael can’t feel it, he can see it and it’s impossible to mask his disgust. Another gob of cream drips on Michael’s chin and he looks at it in distaste. Instead of clearing it away with his finger, Thomas leans close to Michael’s face and licks it away. The wet tongue on his cheek makes Michael immediately pull away, his heartbeat pounding. No. This was wrong.

He looks at Thomas with eyes wide in shock and disgust. His look is returned by Thomas’s smirk. The unease multiplies in Michael’s chest and he straightens his back.  _ No,  _ he mouths.  _ Stop.  _

“Why?” chuckles Thomas as he swipes away the rest of the cream with his thumb. 

His tongue darts out and licks away the cream, relishing Michael’s expression. He feeds Michael the rest of the pastry and has him drink his tea. Amidst those activities, Michael can still feel the wet rasp of Thomas’s tongue on his cheek. Hesitantly, he chews the pastry and swallows. It’s too sweet. Just like his outfit. Just like his face. From his reflection in the window, he can see how large his eyes are, emphasized by the eyeliner and pink eye shadow. Although some of his lipstick has stained the teacup, his lips are still a visible shade of pink. With the blush on, it’s hard to tell that all the blood from his face has drained. 

Today, Thomas has chosen a frilly bow to adorn his head. Michael notes how his hair has grown longer and how he should have it cut soon. It’s more curlier than usual, no thanks to the curling iron Thomas used this morning.  _ If Thomas ever has the intention to burn me, I wouldn’t even have the ability to scream _ , he thinks as he is made to sip his tea. The lace collar scratches against his neck and he would do anything just to take it off. Actually, he’d have given everything he owned just to get out of the outfit Thomas forced him into. 

The dress he wears is a light shade of pink, with frilly petticoats and dessert patterns over the fabric. The sleeves drip with lace and his hands are gloved with a matching set of pink gloves. But that wasn’t what irritated him. It was what was beneath the dress that he disliked the most. The underwear he had to wear was nothing like what he was used to. It pressed into corners he disliked thinking about and was far too tight against his skin. At the end of the day, he saw the angry red marks that scored his skin that was met with dismissal by Thomas. 

_ You’ll grow into it, _ was what he had said.  _ More like starve into it _ . With the corset secured tightly against his torso, he could barely breathe nor eat. And he knew that Thomas had done that on purpose. After all, he was Thomas’s precious doll. He had to keep an ideal figure in order to maintain his innocent and adorable appearance. His lip curls at the thought. Everything was fake. A fake doll, a fake master, a fake childhood and a fake innocent fantasy. There was nothing innocent about what Thomas had done to him, he knows.

His brother had been good at keeping his urges under wraps for the last few weeks but they were beginning to unravel. Every look, every motion was a pretense. In the end, all Thomas wanted was him to pay for breaking their mother’s favorite doll. It was incredibly stupid, but what could Michael do? 

Thomas grabs his chin and pulls him closer. Michael stiffens and presses his lips into a thin line. 

“Oh don’t be like that…,” teases Thomas as he tickles Michael’s chin. 

Michael glares at him, his lips still closed. He refuses to give in, not even blinking as Thomas came closer to him. No longer can his disgust lay hidden and it shows in his expression. Frowning, Thomas attempts to open Michael’s mouth with his thumb. 

“Don’t you love me?” he whispers.

This game again. Whenever Michael showed resistance, Thomas would always feign being hurt.  _ Don’t you love me?  _ The words taste bitter in his mouth.  _ I love you, but not like this _ , Michael wants to say. But Thomas would just shake his head and insist that Michael didn’t. Thomas’s expression hardens and he strokes Michael’s cheek.

“You’re just a doll now. Don’t worry about it,” he says. 

The hand on Michael’s face has become possessive. Michael pulls away and shakes his head. He continues to glare at Thomas. The expression on Thomas’s face darkens. His other hand darts out and grabs the other side of Michael’s face. Forcibly, he pulls Michael towards him. 

“I love you. And you need to love me too,” he murmurs as he kisses Michael on the lips. 

He can’t turn away from the desperate kiss. Despite all of his struggling, he remains where he is. Nearly suffocating from this, Michael tries to spit Thomas out. Immediately, Thomas pulls away. Anger has filled his expression. He looks at Michael for a few moments, making Michael start to regret what he has done. Without warning, he pushes Michael and the chair onto the floor with a crash. The impact of the chair’s back against Michael’s head is jarring and he lets in a sharp gasp. Thomas looks down at him, a grimace on his face. 

“You’re so ungrateful..,” he hisses. 

Turning away, he begins to walk out of the room. Lying in a sprawled heap with his skirts all around him, Michael’s eyes follows Thomas. One of his plastic limbs are pointed towards his older brother, as if begging for its master to come back. 


	11. Silver Strands

Silver Strands

“I’m about to sculpt your arms,” announces Thomas as he enters the room. 

“That’s wonderful,” mutters Christopher. 

A frown fills Thomas's face. Three weeks of mapping out the proportions, sketches, basic modeling and selecting the correct shade of porcelain had filled the last few days. Not to mention preserving the amputated limbs in formaldehyde for reference. He had expected Christopher to be a lot more grateful. Thomas narrows his eyes as he rounds the table. He looks down at Christopher and his brother returns his look with an aggressive glare.

“Let me go,” demands Christopher. “You're committing a crime here. Let me go and perhaps we’ll be able to sort this out peacefully.”

“We should start working on basic refinements,” begins Thomas as he takes out a rectangular box. “Your eyes, for one.”

A flicker of panic fills his brother's face for a few moments. When Thomas shows the contents inside of the box, he smiles as he sees his brother relax. Silver eyelashes, long and fluffy for the top and bottom of the eyes carefully lay in the velvet lining of the box. Asides from the preparation of the limbs, he had painstakingly glued and sewn the hairs together from the lock of hair he had received from his brother. He takes the first eyelash and rests it on his brothers right eye. Then he takes the needle and thread from the table besides him.

“Th-Thomas…,” stammers Christopher. “What are you planning to do…?”

“Hold still. You don't want the needle to go into your eye, do you?”

Christopher begins to struggle against his restraints, the straps squeaking in protest. Grimacing, Thomas grabs a cloth and shoves it into his brother's mouth. With rough hands, he stills his brother’s movements. Readjusting the eyelash, he lifts the eyelid away from the eye.  _ Fsshk.  _ With a needle, he slowly begins to move the thread through the eyelid. A muffled scream answers him and he can see the raging panic filling his brother's expression. It's painstaking work, being careful not to pierce his brother's eye. After awhile, the screaming stops, replaced by labored breathing and whimpers.

“You’ll be beautiful..,” promises Thomas as he finishes the first upper eyelid. 

His brother vehemently shakes his head, blood beginning to trickle down his face. Muffled protest begins as Thomas wipes disinfectant over the left eyelid and puts another piece of thread through the needle. Gently, he wipes away Christopher tears and places an eyelash on his left eyelid. When he pierces the left eyelid, Christopher answers him with another muffled shout. With the same level of precision as the first, Thomas sews the eyelash onto the delicate, bloody skin. Once he's done, he cuts the thread and ties it at the end. He mops up the beads of blood on both eyes and brushes away the tears mixed with blood.

He takes a few moments to admire his handiwork, playfully brushing the long lashes a few times. Pain flashes across Christopher's expression each time he does so. Sighing, Thomas moves onto the bottom lashes. They aren't as long as the first ones, but would compliment them. Leaning closer to Christopher, he pushes the eyelash close to the bottom of Christopher's eye. Christopher protests with another shout, but Thomas shushes him. He strokes what remains of Christopher’s shoulder and smiles. 

When he makes the needle pierce through Christopher’s bottom eyelid, he looks down at the blood and tears staining Christopher’s face. It couldn’t be helped. No one had ever said making beautiful dolls was easy. He readjusts Christopher’s head and continues to sew the eyelash to Christopher’s bottom lid. When he’s done with both eyes, he cradles Christopher’s body in his arms, comforting his brother for the first time in his life. 

“I love you, my queen.”


	12. Like When We Were Younger

LIke When We Were Younger

It's so uncomfortable to open his eyes now. The lashes weigh them down and the sting of the needle still shoots up every time he opens them. That was why Christopher didn't bother to look at Thomas the following visit.

“I've started with the first arm,” declares Thomas proudly. “Your arms were always so delicate and long. I always enjoyed it whenever you played the piano. It’s too bad you won’t be able to ever do that again.”

A pang fills Christopher's chest. From beneath his eyelashes, he looks at Thomas with a pained expression. Thomas looks down at him in pity and strokes his face. Christopher turns his face away and curls his lip. It was humiliating, being reduced to nothing but a torso. Not getting the sign, Thomas continues to touch Christopher, running his fingers through his hair. 

Every morning, he would take time to brush the silver locks with care. It was always so silky and long, now even longer than what remained of Christopher’s body. Every other day, he would wash the hair with Christopher’s favorite shampoo, reassuring him that his hair was being taken care of just like before. 

“Please stop touching me,” murmurs Christopher.

Thomas pauses running his fingers through his brother’s hair. He walks over to Christopher’s side and looks at his brother’s expression. Although it did not betray anything to others, he knew exactly what Christopher was feeling. His brother doesn’t meet his eye, instead angling them past him. All color has drained from his face. No feeling can be determined from his lips, which are in a neutral expression. Along with that, his eyebrows are also set straight above his eyes. 

“You’re angry at me,” says Thomas. 

Not even an accusation. But a statement. Even when he was young, Christopher rarely showed his anger. Instead, his features would remain eerily neutral and he would grow silent. But it was like the placid surface of a lake. Beneath, there was a world of churning anger. It wouldn’t take much for the placid surface to turn into furious waves, if one knew how. 

At Thomas’s statement, Christopher’s eyebrows slightly narrow. 

“I wonder why,” he mutters. 

Hesitantly, Thomas strokes Christopher’s cheek with the back of his hand. His skin is hot to the touch. 

“Don’t,” hisses Christopher. 

“We’re similar, if you think about it,” begins Thomas.

He sees Christopher’s eyes widen and the corners of his mouth turn downward. 

“You just have more self-control than I do,” continues Thomas. “But if you peel that back, you’re just as broken as I am.” 

Christopher’s adamsappel bobs up and down as he swallows. Color begins to fill his cheeks. Thomas knows that deep down, Christopher looked down on him. The thought of comparing him to Thomas was repulsive. Thomas was disobedience, anger and unruliness. Christopher was obedience, stoicness and maturity. They were nothing alike. Or, that was what Christopher liked to tell himself. 

“You want to lash out, don’t you?” says Thomas. “Scream at me. Kick me. But you can’t.”

Christopher’s mouth is pressed into a thin line. There’s a slight trembling in his shoulders. With one finger, Thomas runs it down Christopher’s pale chest. The sheet that covers Christopher’s lower regions remains untouched as Thomas lifts his finger. 

“Why did you do this to me? To us?” whispers Christopher. 

Thomas leans close to Christopher’s ear. He smells Christopher’s shampoo and a feeling of calm washes over him. 

“Because I want to keep you here with me forever,” says Thomas quietly. 

“I didn’t leave you because I wanted to!” shouts Christopher as he thrashes against the restraints. “How many times must I tell you that…?!”

“Yet even after you came for us, you weren’t my brother! You were just some cold-hearted stranger! You still are!” snaps Thomas. 

Hurt flashes across Christopher’s expression and he pauses a bit. Thomas walks to the end of the table and throws away the sheet. He looks down at Christopher’s body and notices his brother shift uncomfortably. 

“I don’t want to see you as my brother anymore,” murmurs Thomas. “I just want to see you as one of my prized possessions.” 

There’s a slight tremble in Christopher’s lips. The color has completely returned to his face now. Thomas approaches him and begins to undo the restraints. 

“Wh...what are you doing…?” stammers Christopher. 

“Getting a glimpse of what the future will look like,” says Thomas as he undoes the last of the straps. 

The statement sends a chill down Christopher’s spine. He shifts uncomfortably as he’s picked up and placed at another table. Pain shoots up at the ends of what remains of his legs as he’s rested against the back of a chair. A mirror faces him and he looks away. Even briefly glimpsing at his reflection sent a wave of disgust up his chest. What had Thomas done to him…? 

Thomas pulls out a drawer and Christopher braces himself. He slightly relaxes when all he sees are cosmetic products. With gentle hands, he begins to brush back Christopher’s hair. Throughout the entire process, Christopher closes his eyes and sinks into his thoughts. It’s difficult to sit in the chair without the support of his limbs and he misses them more than ever. Distantly, he can hear his brother’s voice, now soft and soothing. He ignores it and thinks back to when they were children. 

From the beginning, they had been fundamental opposites. As a child, Thomas was often running around the halls and pestering everyone in his line of vision to join in. On the other hand, Christopher was usually found in a corner of the library with a book in his hands. When he was younger, Thomas had often tried to get Christopher to join in his antics. Always, Christopher had refused. In the rare moments that they actually agreed on something, the house was always quiet. Christopher usually had Thomas tucked in his arms, the two of them fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, a book besides them. 

Such moments were secretly cherished by Christopher. The warmth of his brother’s body, the sound of his raspy breathing, his familiar scent and his peacefully sleeping face warmed his heart. He can’t remember when they had had a moment like that in years. Where did his innocent brother go? When did it all go wrong? He supposes that he’s at fault in a small way, leaving him at the orphanage like that. But he had no choice. It wasn’t his fault. 

A brush runs across his face. He wrinkles his nose at the ticklish feeling. His eyes are still closed and it’s too much of an effort to open them. If their father saw this, what would he have said? Would he have laughed? Something at the back of his mind is dragged to the surface. 

“You’ve done this to me before, haven’t you?” says Christopher, breaking the silence. 

The brush pauses on his cheek. Then it pulls away. 

“I thought you wouldn’t have remembered,” murmurs Thomas.

Then the brush resumes dusting Christopher’s cheeks. 

The afternoon sun was pouring in through their mother’s bedroom. Christopher had been sitting at their mother’s vanity, shifting uncomfortably as he allowed Thomas to paint his face. 

“Oww...stop it, Thomas!” he complained. “Why can’t you do this to baby Michael?”

“It’s because he’s fidgety and cries. Now hold still,” commands Thomas as he rights Christopher up. 

He does a clumsy job of applying cosmetics to his brother’s face. Christopher winces as he feels the lipstick fall on his chin. 

“I don’t want to do this. Mother will be angry,” he moped. 

“We always do things _ you _want to do!” says Thomas as he stamps his feet. “For once, can we not read boring books?!”

“They aren’t boring!” snaps Christopher as he stands up. 

He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Their mother’s red lipstick is smeared across his chin and the poorly applied eyeliner has given him the appearance of a racoon. The blush is all over his face, coloring it an alarming shade of pink. Thomas stands besides him, his head reaching up to Christopher’s shoulder. Both of their mouths are pressed into wavering thin lines. Christopher purses his lips, smearing them even more. 

Surprisingly, it’s him that laughs first. It begins as a series of stifled snickers. Then giggles. And then peals of laughter. Thomas quickly joins in and before they realize it, they’re both laughing at Christopher’s reflection. 

The tug of the hairbrush briefly brings him back to the present. Christopher still doesn’t bother to open his eyes, wanting to further delve into the past. 

When was the last time they had laughed like that? In tandem with each other, no ill feelings harbored. In those moments, he had felt a connection between him and his brother. There had always been a small part of him that yearned for that connection to return. He can’t remember the most recent time he’s laughed like that, with tears streaming down his eyes and all his worries vanishing for the next few moments. 

Their father had come in, worried about all the commotion. When he saw the sight, he too had burst into laughter. For once, the two were getting along. That must have been the source of Byron’s laughter. After the laughing had subsided, Christopher proceeded to chase Thomas around the house. He hadn’t laughed like that his entire life and the feeling was exhilarating. He remembers how that night he had collapsed into his bed, exhausted but happy. His cheeks were red from laughing so much and he hoped to have another day like that soon. In the middle of the night, Thomas had crawled into his bed and the two ended up talking until dawn arrived. 

Such moments were so far and rare. The closest they got to nowadays was sitting by each other and busying themselves with a book or a screen. There was no more interaction that gave way to deep discussions or laughter. If they tried to strike up a conversation, there would only be an argument. No matter how they tried to repair their relationship, it had awkwardly petered out into one of compromises. Christopher sighs. It was more like a cracked window that had been covered by a thin layer of duct tape. Bound to shatter, bound to break. 

And now he was here. He had never bothered to address Thomas’s emotional needs after their father’s return, too busy with work and daily life. Deep down, he knew that Thomas needed his help, but he didn’t know how to give him the needed support. Instead of admitting that, he continued on with his life. And underneath Thomas’s mask, he continued to crack. And crack. And crack. All of his cues requesting for help had been ignored. 

Then their father left. And Thomas shattered. Christopher should have been more supportive. He should have at least tried to comfort Thomas in his grief. But everyone was so engrossed in their own emotions that he did not see the signs that something in Thomas had changed. He had just seen it as one of Thomas’s usual tantrums. Like a child. But Thomas was no longer a child. He was an adult. When did Christopher forget that?

Actually, he had never accepted that fact in the first place. Thomas was too impulsive, too emotional to be an adult. All of the adults he had known were calm and rational, like his father and Dr. Faker. _ He’ll calm down when he’s an adult, _he had thought. But Thomas never did calm down. Leaving all of his responsibilities to time was a failing of his ability as an older brother. It’s one of his many regrets.

He thinks back to that afternoon of laughter and feels a pang in his heart. Thomas must have also been yearning for such a moment to return. But not like this. Christopher opens his eyes and a mixture of fear and disgust fill his chest. There would be no laughter in this reenactment of the past. 

“I don’t even look human anymore,” chokes Christopher as he looks in the mirror. 

“That’s because you won’t be,” says Thomas as he puts the curling iron away. “You’ll be a doll.”

Christopher’s face is a ghastly shade of white, the blush on his cheeks standing out against the pale surface. The center of his lips are painted a bright red, curving into a heart shape. At the side of his left eye, a diamond is drawn. His hair has been loosely styled into a towering pouf, the few remaining strands at the bottom curled into ringlets. But what disturbs him the most is his lack of limbs. His limbless shoulders stare back at him, the bare stumps constantly reminding him that this was far from a nightmare. 

“I’m not a doll,” asserts Christopher. “And I won’t ever be, no matter what you do to me. I’ll still be your brother.” 

There’s a slight change in Thomas’s expression. He stands next to Christopher and both look at his reflection. 

“Would you really still be my brother?” murmurs Thomas. 

“Of course..! Please, just stop this and maybe, maybe everything will be just like before,” begs Christopher. 

Back to him ignoring Thomas. Back to Thomas ignoring him. There’s a brief pause, with Christopher holding his breath. Then Thomas places his lips on Christopher’s forehead and strokes his cheek, smearing a bit of the rouge. 

“No.”

* * *

Chapter illustration [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=16rlRmBfvRvDxCji6Iry6nOkevGVcKXWk)


	13. Cold Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the incest begins...please read at your own risk.

Cold Lips

Michael winces as he hears the door open. He’s sprawled on Thomas’s bed, his dress haphazardly pulled on. One of his shoulders is still bare from a previous session, a bruise beginning to form where Thomas bit him. He only bit the parts of flesh, careful to never damage the plastic. Worming his way closer to the blankets as he feels the draft, Michael turns away from Thomas as he enters. His lips begin to tremble and he bites it. 

_ No crying. That will only further motivate him,  _ he thinks as he feigns being asleep. So far, Thomas had only kissed and bitten him. He hadn’t bothered to take Michael’s clothes off entirely, but Michael doesn’t know how long that would last. For now, he continued to reject Thomas to the best of his abilities. This was abhorrent. 

“Asleep, are we?” coos Thomas as he rolls Michael over. 

It takes all of Michael’s self control to maintain his sleeping mask as Thomas sits him up and rearranges his hair. He pulls up Michael’s sleeve onto his bare shoulder and straightens out his skirts. Michael’s lips twitch as he feels Thomas refasten the bonnet around his head. A brief kiss is given to him and then the ribbons underneath his chin are tied. He feels himself being picked up, but still refuses to open his eyes. 

The draft of the hallway soon blows against his neck and he slightly shivers. Thomas runs his hand down Michael’s back and shushes him. 

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers. “I’m just bringing you back to your room.”

Briefly, Michael thinks back to his room filled with artifacts. They must have been getting dusty by now. If only he could dust them off and organize them...He hasn’t cleaned anything for weeks now and worry has begun to fill his chest. What if their home was falling into disrepair? What if Thomas doesn’t take out the garbage or cleans the dishes? Before, he and Christopher had always been the ones to remind Thomas what his responsibilities were. With both of them under Thomas’s control, who would do the housework?

It’s a ridiculous thing to worry about, Michael knows, but he just couldn’t help it. It’s not like this way of living required a lot of focus. And when he wasn’t preoccupied with a strenuous activity, he would think in order to fill the void. It would usually drift to things he needed to do in order to stay healthy and maintain the Arclight household. Even in this situation, he is compelled to think of these things, although he could no longer do them. 

Thomas opens up the door to the doll room and gently places Michael in the bed. The soft sheets nestle against Michael’s skin and he takes in a deep breath at the freshly laundered sheets. He’s lovingly tucked in by Thomas, who then closes the curtains around his bed. Now provided with some privacy, Michael opens his eyes. The coral-colored curtains are thin and he could see the silhouettes of the furniture around him. In the distance, Thomas was dusting off some of his dolls. He hums a song under his breath that Michael immediately recognizes from their childhood. 

A pang fills his chest. Things had been so simple then. He supposes that Thomas was attempting to simplify things by doing this. It was so much easier to see him and Christopher as objects rather than human beings with emotions. If they were just prized dolls, all they needed to do was look pleasant and love Thomas at all times. There would be no need for tears or anger. Just empty smiles. 


	14. Coronation

Coronation

“Good morning, my queen,” greets Thomas as he enters his workshop. 

Groggily, Christopher opens up his eyes. He’s about to beg Thomas to release him and Michael for the umpteenth time, but when he sees the finely sculpted arm in Thomas’s hand, all the words die in his mouth. The day had arrived. 

“I’ll be bringing them in, one by one,” says Thomas. “I want to treat them with the utmost care.”

Gingerly, he places the arm on the table besides Christopher, securing it with straps. Then he turns to leave, his footsteps echoing behind him. When the door closes behind him, Christopher slowly turns to look at the arm. His brother truly was an artist. It was a shade of porcelain just like his own pale skin. The arm was slightly bent, leading to an equally delicate hand. Slightly cupped, the four fingers were close together, defined by small grooves. The thumb was slightly bent, showing off a beautifully carved nail. 

This must have taken hours to sculpt. He imagines Thomas bent over in a workshop somewhere in the basement. Why didn’t Thomas just sculpt them here? When the door opens, he turns to look at Thomas. 

“Where do you even make these…?” he asks. 

Thomas gives him a nonchalant shrug. 

“After I cleared it out, our second garage was a great place for this.”

“Why not here?”

“Because I need natural light and fresh air.”

He places the second appendage on the table and leaves. Christopher swallows hard, a shiver running up his back. He’s about to say something else but is interrupted by the sound of the closing door. Hesitantly, he looks at the other arm. It’s the mirror opposite of the first arm. Together, they would make two perfectly folded arms, the delicate hands barely touching. A demure pose. He imagines himself with those arms and winces. It looks so..._ wrong. _ Unlike Michael’s, these arms lacked joints. He’d be stuck in that demure pose forever. _ Forever. _Unable to move a single limb. The thought of never being able to walk, run or play the piano again returns. Tears fill his eyes. 

Something he had taken for granted all his life had been permanently stolen from him. Even if he was given prosthetics, he would never be able to feel the smoothness of the piano keys with his fingertips ever again. The secret wish of being able to step in mud with his bare feet and squish the wet mud with his toes would never be realized. Throughout his imprisonment, he had often thought of these things. But not as much as today. It had something to do with the sight of the artificial arms besides him. They mocked him. A poor imitation of reality. 

Tears sting his eyes and he bites back a sob as Thomas enters with the first leg. He gives Christopher a brief smile and places the porcelain leg on the table. 

“It’s a work of art,” says Christopher emotionlessly. “I...I don’t know if I deserve this.”

“Nonsense..,” reassures Thomas. “You deserve only the best, for you will be queen.”

Christopher swallows hard. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this. As Thomas is about to leave, Christopher turns to look at him.

“Thomas...wait,” he murmurs. 

“Yes?”

He had only one chance. Taking in a deep breath, he looks into Thomas’s magenta eyes. 

“Take me to a hospital...please..,” begs Christopher. “I want to walk again.”

Thomas’s thick eyebrows furrow in anger. Christopher can almost see the thoughts racing through his brother's mind.

“Can't you just appreciate my work for once?!” he snaps. “ I've poured hours into making these limbs for you!”

“You mutilated me!” screams Christopher, the dull aches across his body increasing as he thrashes against his restraints.

Slowly, Thomas shakes his head.

“Christopher never loved me. But my queen will.”

“I _ do _love you!” protests Christopher. “Can you not see all of the things that I’ve done for you?!”

Thomas's lips are pressed into a thin line. He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better and storms away, angrily sliding the door behind him. Once again left in silence, the tears of frustration return. He can't have this fate forced onto him. He isn’t one of Thomas’s dolls, nor will he ever be. The silence creeps against his senses, dulling out his perception of time. Somewhere, a countdown was starting, counting down the moments to his condemnation. In the midst of the silence, he asks himself, “When did Thomas become like this?”

He looks up to the ceiling as if it had answers and lets out a low sob. How long had _ he _ been like this? Time was so hard to tell in the windowless room. Well, surely this wouldn't last for long. Someone would suspect that something was amiss after a few weeks. Then, he and Michael would be saved. Surely that would happen. Surely. 

_ Click. _The sound of footsteps follow the sound of the door opening. Quietly, Thomas places the second leg next to the first. He walks over to a cabinet and rummages around, still saying nothing. When he returns, Christopher sees a syringe in his hand. Slowly, he turns to look at Thomas. His brother’s expression is unreadable. 

“You can stop this madness...just call the hospital and—”

“No,” Growls Thomas as he wipes down Christopher's neck with disinfectant.

Christopher shivers at the coldness of the cloth and wets his lips.

“ Please don't do this..,” he pleads.

The sharp sting of the needle enters his neck. Thomas’s expression has now shifted to one of tenderness. Dread creeps up Christopher’s spine. 

“I loved listening to your voice. It was always so calming to hear whenever you weren’t cross with me. It's a pity I'll have to remove it,” murmurs Thomas. 

Trying to fight back the cloudiness that was slowly filling his mind, Christopher mumbles out a slurred “Why…?”

The last thing he sees before his eyes close is Thomas's sad smile.

“Because dolls don’t have voices of their own.”


	15. Enthronement

Enthronement

Something is burning. Did he leave the stove on? His head feels so heavy...Did he drink something last night? No, he rarely imbibed alcohol. And as far as he could remember, there was no recent holiday. _ Someone is playing with his hair. _ He can feel their fingers rearranging the silver strands and irritation fills his chest. Under no circumstances is anyone ever allowed to play with his hair. He slowly opens his eyes, ready to issue a warning to whoever was doing such a thing. Yet when he opens his mouth, nothing but air comes out. _ What had happened to his voice? _His eyes immediately open. He sees his hands folded in his lap, so pale and delicate looking. Had they always looked like that?

When he tries to move them, they don’t budge an inch. And that’s when he realizes. _ No, those weren't his hands. _ An attempt to clear his throat yields again to silence. His throat was fine yesterday, so why…? _ It's a pity I'll have to remove it, murmurs Thomas. _Memories of the porcelain arms and legs return and he stifles a cry of panic. Nothing would have come out anyways. With painstaking slowness, he tries to look up. The weight on his head makes him feel as if his neck will snap off.

“Ssh...take it easy,” murmurs Thomas.

A tanned hand readjusts Christopher's head. In front of him is his reflection, but he can barely tell that it's him. No wonder his head felt so heavy. More than a foot of his hair had been perched atop his head, a rose vine spiraling around the silver locks. The remainder of his hair is curled into ringlets, trailing onto his shoulders. Just like before, but more cleaner and perfect. His new reality. 

He thinks back to the noblewomen of the 18th century who had their hair styled into grotesque works of art as the peasants starved. It was more than common for such works to be riddled with rats, the result of poor hygiene and the need to preserve the “art.” Perhaps on the outside, they were beautiful to look at, but beneath the artifice was a nest of vermin. _ Rotting from the inside. _That was what was bound to happen to all of them if this madness continued. Christopher swallows hard and looks at Thomas with a concerned look. 

There’s a puff of powder in Thomas’s hand and he gently pats it on Christopher’s face. The elder Arclight grimaces in distaste and slowly shakes his head, trying to back away from Thomas. 

“Hold still, your majesty,” chuckles Thomas. 

He quickly forces Christopher back into position. With deft hands, he applies the rest of the powder. As the process continues, Christopher tries to protest in any way he can. Words are mouthed from his lips but are ignored by Thomas. Whenever he attempts to make an unhappy expression, Thomas would push his features back. Trying to move his torso was a struggle, no thanks to the porcelain limbs. If he leaned forwards, he would most likely fall off his seat. 

His legs did not have joints so they stood ramrod straight, seeming to balance precariously on the chair. If he leaned too far, he would become a splayed mess on the floor. The only action left then would be to painstakingly worm his way out the door. _ Pathetic _ . He would never sink that low. When Thomas returns with a brush and a silver container, Christopher attempts to mouth a few words at Thomas again. _ Stop it this instant. Take me to the nearest hospital now. _Yet all that happened was the brush dipping into the container. With one finger, Thomas pushes Christopher his mouth closed and paints his lips a bright red. It's an eye-catching shade of red and he averts his eyes away from it.

He wants to give Thomas the chastising of his life, but all he can do is mouth at Thomas helplessly as rouge is being applied to his cheeks. _ Stop it. Stop it. I’m your brother, not a doll. _ Thomas takes an eyeliner pencil and begins to work his way around Christopher's eye. Forced to stay still as an object was dangerously close to his eye, Christopher stills his mouth. As Thomas prepares to move onto the next eye, Christopher attempts to move away from the pencil. Thomas clicks his tongue and pulls Christopher forwards. Christopher shakes his head slowly, the weight from his hair pressing onto his neck. _ I don't want this. _ But all Thomas does is smile and holds Christopher’s head still. 

“You’re a porcelain doll. You can’t speak,” he says gently as he works on the left eye.

_ But I’m not. I’m a human. Your brother. _Thomas continues to trace Christopher's eye with the pencil. The urge to lash out slowly rises in Christopher’s mind. But what could he do? It took too much effort to move, the porcelain limbs weighing him down. He could continue making angry expressions and mouthing frustrations, but that would only anger Thomas in the end. And he wouldn’t be able to protect himself.

Tears of frustration begin to fill his eyes as the sky blue eyeshadow is applied. What did he do to deserve this? He couldn't even express his anger properly. The only actions he was able to do were from his head to his torso._ Like a worm. Like a bloody worm. _Satisfied with his work, Thomas turns Christopher towards the mirror again. The tears threaten to spill over when he sees his reflection. Thick eyelashes, shining eyes, rouged cheeks and delicate painted lips. He hates every part of this. 

Thomas gives him a reassuring smile and a kiss on his cheek. Then he walks off. _ Surely, someone would come and save him before this spiraled into complete madness. _ He turns away from his reflection, focusing on his body instead. Sometime after the operation Thomas had put him into a white shift. At least he didn't have to see where the flesh ended and where the porcelain began. _ Like Michael. _

The sound of wheels rolling from behind causes him to turn around as best as he can. With a mannequin on each arm, Thomas carefully rolls them next to Christopher. On one mannequin is an elegant sky blue dress, fitted with an outer skirt of the same color. The skirt beneath is decorated with roses and pearls. On the other mannequin are undergarments with blue and white stripes. 

Slowly, he feels himself being lifted off his feet. After what must have been days of being forced to lie down, the feeling is disorientating. He’s surprised that the porcelain legs could even support the rest of his body. At first glance they seemed so delicate…

He raises an eyebrow when Thomas begins to pull the shift off of the mannequin. Never in his life had he been forced to undergo such humiliation. But if he moved in a sign of protest, he was sure that he would come crashing to the ground. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to be dressed as Thomas pleased. Someone would save him soon. Or, that's what he told himself.

If he closes his eyes he can still pretend that everything was normal. At this time, he would have been enjoying tea with Thomas and Michael. The tea would be chamomile. The cookies would be madeleines, purchased at Heartland’s finest bakery. Michael would put milk, two sugar cubes and honey in his tea. Thomas would have sipped it with a bit of honey. Depending on his mood, Thomas might have added a few sugar cubes. Christopher would put in his usual teaspoon of honey, a trickle of milk and one sugar cube. Just a normal, perfect day. 

They would be out on the veranda in this fine weather, listening to the sounds of nature. Ah, how lovely would the birds have sounded! The warm rays of the sun caressing his skin. The rich smell of the tea and cookies...Everyone would be smiling, appreciating one another's company. _ Perhaps, _ he thinks. _ Perhaps Kaito would come over for tea too. _ His student would sit besides him, enjoying the gardens. They would work on projects together, far away from the chaos of downtown. 

When was the last time he saw Kaito? It must have been a few weeks ago. That made Kaito his best bet on saving them. Sometime or later, Kaito would begin to suspect why his mentor was not answering his calls. Yes. He would be saved soon. It would all soon be just a nightmare. He’d pay attention to Thomas more. Send him to therapy. Allow him to talk to him. Respect him. And maybe their father would come back. That would be nice, too. Just them being a family again, no matter how broken they were. 

“And here we are,” declares Thomas. “The queen of all my porcelain dolls.”

Christopher's eyes flutter open to discover that he’s still standing. The mirror is in front of him, detailing every intricate layer of the dress. Its wide skirts contrast with his slim torso, sculpted into a triangular shape by the stays. The artificial arms continue to be folded demurely, bracelets of pearl and gold encircling them. A matching sky-blue lace collar circles around his neck, the silk soft against his skin. Tips of delicate slippers peek out from underneath his skirts. 

The tears return back to his eyes. Unceremoniously, he is swept off of his feet and carried out of the room. They walk down the hall filled with their ancestors’ portraits. The dull morning light filters in through the windows, casting eerie shadows on the portraits and furniture. Carefully, Thomas walks into a room filled to the brim with his and his mother's porcelain dolls. In the center of the room is an elegantly carved mahogany chair, beckoning the both of them. Thomas gently seats Christopher onto the chair, readjusting his silver curls and dress. The middle Arclight takes a step back and nods, satisfied with his work. With a smile, Thomas takes a bow.

“I am honored to serve you, my doll.”

That’s when the tears slide down Christopher's carefully rouged cheeks, no longer able to be held back.

"The Queen’s" Illustration [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1O21eUF6-5la-ntDamttWJdHmxMfytPi1/view?usp=drivesdk)


	16. A Tea Party at Noon

A Tea Party at Noon

“You’re both so lovely,” compliments Thomas.

Christopher and Michael sit in silence. The smell of tea fills the room, its sickly sweet scent jarring compared to the weeks spent in Thomas’s cold workshop. Their arms are resting on the table, hands outstretched besides the delicate teacups. Even the simple act of drinking tea had been stolen from them. They stare at Thomas from across the table, their eyes tired and defeated underneath the powder. 

An entire week of this nightmare. Christopher had run out of tears to cry, now only expressing his emotions through glances or the ends of his mouth. Thomas takes a sip of tea and slides out of his chair to allow Michael to drink. He gently holds Michael’s chin with one hand while the other hand tips the rim of the cup through his lips. Obediently, Michael drinks, white throat bobbing up and down. His eyes are distant, as if they belonged to another individual. This is no longer his body, the piece of flesh melded with plastic that is posed and carressed like a beloved toy. 

It’s the next moment that ties Christopher’s stomach into knots. Resting the empty teacup down, Thomas proceeds to run his lips up and down Michael’s throat. Almost imperceptibly, Michael’s chest rises and falls a bit faster. Throughout the week, Thomas had often showed a fondness for Michael that hadn’t been there before. A lingering touch there. An uncomfortably long kiss here. Christopher gives Thomas his best glare, but Thomas only pauses for a few moments, a smile playing on his lips. 

“What, jealous, your majesty?” he purrs, toying with Michael’s curls. “Rest easy. Your time will come soon.”

Thomas’s words sends prickles down Christopher’s back. Even the thought of his brother running his hands down his porcelain arms was abhorrent in this light. Thomas gives Michael one last kiss on the cheek and then returns to his seat. As if nothing had happened, Thomas resumes drinking his tea. He gives his dolls a dazzling smile as he drinks, tugging at Christopher’s heart. 

He hadn’t seen Thomas smile like that for years. 

"Rose’s" illustration [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Q5-gfnESUVhoKEnAUtgKSLOcl8zpT7qC/view?usp=drivesdk)


	17. The Queen

The Queen

They waltz across the empty ballroom, Thomas’s footsteps echoing across the hall. It was an absurd sight, a young man lifting up a doll that was a foot taller than him. The doll’s arms limply hang from its shoulders, slightly bent at the elbow. Instead of being dragged around the floor, it looked like it would be happier if it was sat in a chair and left to collect dust. Yet the young man’s expression showed absolute bliss. The sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, dust motes swirling in the sunbeams. 

Once, their father had entertained hundreds of guests in this grand ballroom. The best orchestras would play lively dance ensembles until the stars had vanished from the sky. The guests would have worn their most excellent suits and dresses, the rainbow of fabrics bouncing off of the polished marble floor. Laughter and the smell of champagne would fill the room, the scene intoxicating to guests and onlookers alike. Waltzes, gavottes, minuettes...countless pairs of feet had danced upon this floor. 

Yet only two pairs of feet pattered on the tiles now. Their only music was the sound of Thomas’s footsteps, a constant _ pit pit pit pat. _Christopher’s feet barely touched the floor, his blue silk slippers brushing against the ground every once in awhile. He caught his reflection in one of the windows and sighed. Somehow, he had become accustomed to the wide-skirted dresses and the elaborate hairstyles. 

Today, Thomas had fastened a ship to Christopher’s hair. It bobbed up and down as the two made their way across the room, as if it was truly at sea. He couldn’t help but think that if anyone saw him like this, they would have said that he looked too beautiful to be human. In fact, he was so beautiful that his reflection disgusted himself. Underneath all of that artifice, he could barely recognize himself. Whenever Thomas carried him through the halls, he would glance at their family pictures. If a mirror was nearby, he would compare himself to the photographs. 

It seemed that every day he was straying farther from his true self. Soon, he wouldn’t even be able to see Christopher Arclight anymore. There would just be a doll in the mirror, a grotesque imitation of what used to be Christopher Arclight. 

“Remember when father and mum danced?” asked Thomas, his voice echoing against the bare walls. “They were so beautiful...I always wanted to look like them.” 

For once, it felt as if this was a normal conversation from brother to brother. Regaining a bit of his humanity, Christopher gives Thomas a small smile and nods as best as he can. To them, their mother was still the most beautiful woman in the world. 

She had large, doe-like eyes that were a deep shade of green, often magnified with a pair of round spectacles. Somehow, her hair always had a few strands sticking out no matter how hard she tried to tame it. Ignoring proper appearances, she would go outside hatless and in a ponytail to search for insects in the garden. There were many times where she would come in with an interesting specimen and present it to whoever cared. Most of the time, everyone hid from her. 

If Christopher remembered correctly, their father had met her on one of his journeys with Dr. Faker. The two scientists were settling down for the night when a woman covered in dirt and twigs crawled out from beneath the bushes, rambling about _ scolopendra astra _ and if they had seen any. Dr. Faker immediately searched for a nearby sharp stick while their father calmly approached the woman with the intent to learn more about _ scolopendra astra. _Needless to say, the two got along quite well. 

A woman with an uncanny obsession of collecting and breeding large centipedes, their mother met her untimely end when she was bitten by a particularly poisonous specimen. Still, Christopher remembers how peaceful she looked at the funeral, as if she had died in the best way possible. Of course, their mother had other collections. One of them was dolls. Numerous as her insect and centipede collection, they used to cover all sections of the house. After her passing, their father had gathered all of them and placed them in a single room. Supposedly, it was for the best. 

He had often heard that their mother was mad and her bad blood had infected all of her children. Whenever the brothers had heard such things, they would vehemently protest against such accusations. She was merely misunderstood. But now, Christopher began to doubt that the rumors were untrue. Perhaps their mother did have madness in her that was passed onto her children. Thomas, for example. 

“Isn’t this what she would have wanted?” asks Thomas. 

The question returns Christopher back to the present. His smile fades. No. If their mother had seen what Thomas had done, she would have burst into tears and would never stop. What had become of her beautiful boys, now mutilated and reduced to objects? From her own breast she had fed them and sung to all three boys every night, hoping that they would grow up to find happiness like hers. This was not the future she had envisioned for them. 

Thomas puts Christopher on the ground, recognizing his brother’s growing anger. His mood immediately darkens in response. 

“Well, it’s your fault that she died,” he mutters. 

The words are like a cold slap. No matter how many people told him that it was not his fault, it took only one accusation to bring him distress. He was 13 years old, in the midst of a frustrating time of his life when he realized that he wasn’t like the other boys his age. What did they see in women and girls that he could not? In his frustration and confused reasoning, he had blamed their mother for making him like this. It was because she was a silly woman, empty headed and simpering, too busy tending to her centipedes to be a proper mother. That she didn’t see him as a grown child. That he wished that she would be normal for once. On late nights, his mind runs across these accusations, trying to fix what he had done. 

Her beautiful, deep green eyes filled with tears as he continued shouting at her. Tremulously, her pink lips quivered, unable to say a thing to such cutting words. What he remembers most were her eyebrows. They were deeply furrowed, deep wrinkles forming on her forehead. Never had he seen such wrinkles on her forehead before. She had always been laughing or smiling previously. Before young Christopher could fully realize the impact of his words, she had ran off to the room of dolls. The last thing he had said to her was “I hate you!” in a vehement and cold voice. 

His final memory of her being alive was her retreating backside, almost comical with the swishing of her numerous skirts. His lips tremble as he relives through that memory and he blinks tears away. It would take a few years later to realize that he had loved men instead of women. Had he been more honest to himself, he wouldn’t have said such cruel things to their mother. 

Thomas brushes away the tears from Christopher’s eyes. 

“Consider becoming a doll as payment for what you did.”

_ Yes, it was his fault. _


	18. What the Moon Saw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explicit incest begins here so tread carefully.

What the Moon Saw

The sound of the door opening jolts Christopher awake. He slowly turns to the crack of light between the curtains around his bed. Besides him, he feels Michael shift in response. Christopher’s silk pillow rustles when he moves his head, some of the ornaments in his hair getting caught in the fabric. Even when he sleeps, he’s still forced to endure the heavy hairstyles and the restrictive dresses. The worst part was waking up, his face covered in makeup from the night before. It felt as if a hand was pressing on his face, suffocating him. Even the sense of peace from greeting the morning sunlight had been stolen from him. 

For a few moments, he hears the footsteps slowly walk towards his bed. A thin flicker of hope fills his chest. Perhaps it was their father who had changed his mind. Oh, the things Christopher would tell him! One hand pulls away the curtains and Christopher tries not to show dismay. There was no sunlight filtering in through the curtains this time, nor was there the familiar face of his father. There was only the bedside lamp and Thomas that received him.

“Let’s have some play time, shall we? After all, you’re still a doll. And dolls love to be played with,” whispers Thomas. 

Dread fills the pit of Christopher’s stomach. He doesn’t know what that exactly means, but he can feel his heart beating faster in his chest. Thomas lifts Christopher from the bed and turns towards the door. Sneaking a glance at Michael, Christopher sees that his brother is wide awake. His eyes are wide in worry. Before the door closes behind him, he mouths out one word that Christopher reads with dread.  _ Run.  _

Useless advice, for he no longer had legs. But the desperation of that word made Christopher’s fear escalate.  _ Escape.  _ He looks around the hall, the usual family photographs lining the walls. In the dim light, they looked ominous, as if they were from another world. His mind flashes back to those nights in which Michael was taken from his side. 

“Play time” was what Thomas had called it.  _ Oh gods.  _ With what was left of his body, Christopher attempts to wriggle out of Thomas’s grasp. His brother’s grip tightens around his body. A quick kiss is placed on his cheek. They approach Thomas’s room, door ajar. Christopher struggles against Thomas even harder, now unafraid of showing his panic. No. He wouldn’t let Thomas do such disgusting things to him. He couldn’t. 

“Stop it..,” murmurs Thomas as he closes the door behind him. 

In this situation, he wouldn’t care if he had to worm away to escape. Even if his limbs dragged against the floor and he escaped inch-by-inch, it still wouldn’t matter. Anything but this. As he’s rested on the bed, Christopher vehemently shakes his head. He’s put on his best glare, in hopes that Thomas would still fear him. It’s worked before...when he was still Christopher. He swallows hard when he’s seated against the headboard. 

“I want to see how beautiful you are,” Thomas says as he climbs onto his bed. 

Briefly, Christopher’s thoughts go to Michael. This must have happened countless times to him. Bile fills his throat. How could Thomas live with himself? He can’t help but flinch when Thomas places a hand on Christopher’s cheek. Thomas’s eyebrows furrow in worry at the response. 

“I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

With that, he begins to run his lips across Christopher’s collarbone. A shiver runs down Christopher’s back each time Thomas’s lips meet his skin. Any attempts at shifting away from Thomas is met with Thomas’s firm hands pushing him back.  _ No, stop,  _ he mouths.  _ Please.  _ His breathing and heart rate accelerate alongside each other. A hand crawls to the back of his dress, fumbling with the zipper. If only he could push Thomas away and slap him. The fingers begin to unlace his stays and he hisses in a rush of anger.  _ No. Stop it. Thomas!  _

His face is burning with a mixture of indignance and fear. Pulling away from Christopher, Thomas proceeds to take off the dress. Christopher clenches his teeth as the cold air brushes against his shoulders. He mouths protests the entire him his clothes are being removed, worming this way and that to no avail. As Thomas removes the final layer, Christopher is urged to scream. But all he can do is lean his torso to the side, getting the shift stuck for a few moments. 

He feels Thomas readjust his body, followed by a slight  _ tsk.  _ The blood roars in his ears as the shift is thrown to the floor. When he looks at Thomas again, all he can see is his desperation. A burning hunger to be loved existed in those eyes. But it wasn’t in the way Christopher had wanted it to be. Since when did things go wrong? Was it the fire? The orphanage? 

“ _ Now you can’t run away anymore…”  _ The memory of Thomas’s words bring a chill down Christopher’s spine.

His brother’s eyes move down to the area between Christopher’s legs. Christopher looks up at Thomas with disgust and fear. His body grows rigid when Thomas trails his finger across Christopher’s porcelain thigh. With what little strength he has, Christopher tries to back away. 

“Shh..,” murmurs Thomas. 

He draws closer to Christopher, his lips caressing Christopher’s chest. A sharp gasp escapes from Christopher when he feels Thomas’s fingers wrap around his cock.  _ I swear to God, you do this and I will never forgive you,  _ mouths Christopher in pure anger. Thomas turns up to look at him. His voice is cold when he says the next sentence. 

“You’re a doll. You have no need to worry about such things.” 

He kisses Christopher on his lips, eliciting a gasp from him. As Thomas continues to tease Christopher, the hatred for his inability to fight back grows. What kind of a brother was he, allowing Thomas to do such things?  _ Stop it. Don’t touch me,  _ mouths Christopher in frustration. Trying to worm away from Thomas proves to be useless, as his brother holds him close, lips encircled around a nipple. The sucking motion brings forth a rush of pleasure that is quickly quashed by disgust. No. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. 

Thrashing leads to Thomas’s chuckle. The sucking intensifies and Christopher swallows a scream. As he thrashes, his body brushes against Thomas’s. Thomas begins to move the hand that has ahold of Christopher in motion with the thrashing. A rush fills Christopher’s chest and he bites down a moan. Heat fills his cheeks and he immediately stops his struggling in hopes that Thomas would also stop. Yet the pumping motion continues and a breath escapes Christopher’s throat.  _ Stop,  _ he begs, holding down another moan. Why did he even bother?

Closing his eyes, he tries to imagine that this wasn’t happening to him. That this was merely a long nightmare and soon, he’d wake up in his own bed, safe and sound. Their father would be there, noting how late he was to breakfast. Thomas would look smugly from his breakfast, revelling in his brother’s dishevelled appearance. Michael would give him an awkward smile. 

Somehow, his hips have started moving alongside Thomas’s hand. He clenches his teeth and dives further into his thoughts. His chest falls with a pleasured exhale. No, that couldn’t be him. The real Christopher Arclight was in his bed, sleeping peacefully. Not this...doll. Yes. That was all he was. A doll, made to pleasure its master. His cheeks are red from fighting himself for so long. Giving in, he feels his body give itself to Thomas. Even though he knows that this is abhorrent, he raises his hips and presses against Thomas. 

_ You’re a bloody hypocrite,  _ snaps Christopher in his head.  _ What is wrong with you?!  _ But this was a doll. 

As he’s about to climax, he realizes he hasn’t felt this good in ages. It almost erased the hell that was now his life.  _ Almost.  _ Abruptly, Thomas releases his hand and Christopher lets out a frustrated huff. 

“Relax..,” he chuckles. “I’m merely bringing you down.”

Once his head is comfortably nestled in Thomas’s pillow, it doesn’t take long for Thomas to resume. As Christopher arches his back and comes, he vaguely feels Thomas letting go. The seed spatters his chest and a part of his face, but he was far too busy basking in the afterglow to care. He can feel his chest heaving up and down, his face red with embarrassment but also satisfaction. 

And then he realizes that his brother had made him feel this way. Bile rises to the top of his throat. He’s suddenly aware of the cum on his body, immediately disgusted with himself. His eyes trail to Thomas, who looks down at him with an arrogant smirk. 

“Not so haughty now, are we?” chuckles Thomas as he swipes away the cum from Christopher’s face. 

With a handkerchief, he wipes Christopher’s cock. The silk against his heated skin is a blessing, but he’s too sick to admit it. He squirms in discomfort, knowing very well that this would only be the first of many times he would be forced to do this. As the rest of his body is wiped down, the gravity of his situation dawns upon him. Not only would he ever move again, but he would have to allow Thomas to “play” with him whenever he wanted. There was no way to fight back. 

Thomas lovingly pats his brother’s cheek and lays down besides him. He turns off the light and rests his arm over Christopher’s chest. Christopher squirms in discomfort as he feels Thomas’s breath tickle the back of his neck. 

“How about one more time, my queen?”

Christopher is silent as he feels Thomas pull down his trousers. Tears spring to his eyes and he screws them shut. Bending to the whims of his brother like this...it must be how being a doll was like. 


	19. Lola

Lola

Ryoga irritatedly raps the back of his hand against the large oaken door. When there is no reply, he jabs the doorbell. The deep, sonorous tolling of the chimes can be heard even through the thick wood. If that doesn’t wake the Arclights, nothing will. He crosses his arms and begins to tap his foot impatiently. A waste of time. That’s what it was. Who cared if III had been absent for a month and a half? He himself had been gone for more than a few months at a time and no one came to help him. 

Anyways, III was from a wealthy family. Perhaps he had found a better college to go to. Maybe he transferred abroad. If it hadn’t been from the combined pleading of Yuma and Rio, he wouldn’t have even been here in the first place. Originally, Yuma had planned to go with Ryoga until a last minute altercation with Kotori stopped him. From what Yuma had told him, Kotori had seen his grades and was demanding he study with her. Ryoga shrugs. Although he was almost never in school, his grades were excellent. 

As he was about to turn and leave, IV answers the door. His supposed friend made no effort to mask his surprise as he saw him. Not even a rude reply escaped his lips. 

“Ryoga,” he said flatly. 

“Who else?” retorts Ryoga. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering school work for your brother,” says Ryoga as he shows IV the stack of papers in a bag. 

Nodding slowly, IV backs away and beckons Ryoga to come inside. Ryoga shakes his head.

“I have some things to do. I can’t stay long. Just give these to your brother.”

“I insist,” says IV as he opens the door wider. “I haven’t seen you in awhile. What have you been up to?”

_More than what you’d expect_, thinks Ryoga as he hesitantly steps into the house. The wealthy furnishings of the Arclight mansion dazzled his eyes and he thought back to the Kamishiro mansion. Where his and the barians’ home was renovated and furnished with modernism in mind, the Arclights’ was the very opposite. Old money. Ryoga allows himself to be led through the halls and into the living room, where he is seated on a settee. Instead of cushioning him like a normal seat, it seemed to push against him with its unyielding surface. It seemed that guests were not a common occurrence here. 

Seating himself across from Ryoga, Thomas musters up a smile. Meeting the smile with an unchanged expression, Ryoga tries to lean back against the settee. The straight back refuses to yield and an almost imperceptible frown tugs at his lips. 

“This was originally Yuma’s idea until he got in a fight about his grades with Kotori,” mutters Ryoga. 

“Ah, young love,” sighs Thomas wistfully. 

Ryoga rolls his eyes and sets Michael’s assignments on the coffee table. 

“Yuma wants to know about why III hasn’t been coming to class as of late,” says Ryoga plainly. 

Thomas’s smile wavers for a bit and he slowly stands up. 

“It’s complicated. Let me get us some refreshments.”

He heads into the kitchen and grabs the kettle. Taking a bag of tea, he puts it in the kettle and fills it with water. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears and his heartbeat accelerating. Ryoga would never understand. Turning on the stove, he quickly sets the kettle on it, trying to quell his nervousness. Remain calm. He must remain calm. Provide a believable excuse. But Ryoga can tell when he’s lying. Those sharp eyes of his had always been able to see through Thomas’s theatrics. 

Opening up the pantry, he grabs a packet of cookies and rips open the bag with shaking hands. Remain calm. He takes in a few deep breaths as he pours the contents of the bag onto a plate. Ryoga cannot grow suspicious. But those eyes of his...those wide, deep blue eyes of his would know. With his beautifully smooth skin...those thin eyebrows and those pink lips...If only Ryoga would smile more. He’d look so cute. No matter how grumpy Ryoga was, there was always something oddly endearing about him. Maybe it was from the silly way he dressed. Although he had dropped the gem-studded jacket (thank goodness) and the matching shoes, he had moved onto leather jackets with metallic spikes and low cut band t-shirts underneath. He supposes that it was just a darker version of his 14-year old outfit, with more spikes than gems. 

Or maybe it was just his face that amused Thomas. Whenever he glared, his nose would always wrinkle up in the cutest way. It was always so fun, teasing him. If he could do that every day and watch his reactions...that would be pure bliss. The urge to add to his collection pulls at him and he knows that this is wrong. This is oh, so wrong. But wouldn’t his dolls like a new addition? He’s sure they would. Things have gotten quiet between them for the last few weeks. A new doll would make everyone excited. Oh, how he would tease the new doll! Perhaps even to the point of crying. The thought of Ryoga crying is odd in itself. But, thinks Thomas, it could be cute. He licks his lips as he looks down at the plain sugar cookies. 

Michael had loved these. He never understood why. They were always so plain. Occasionally he would dip them in milk or with his tea but they had always proved disappointing. No one would mind if he added some sugar, would they? He goes to the third drawer in the kitchen and pulls it out. Moving the small spice jars to the side, he then lifts the false bottom away and smiles. A small bottle, filled with what looked like sugar stared up at him. In neat handwriting, Sleeping Tonic was written on a label faded with age. He unscrews the cap and sprinkles some of it onto the cookies. Then he places a few chocolate squares atop of the cookies. He would slowly eat those while avoiding the cookies to avoid suspicion. 

This is wrong, a voice tells him as the tea kettle wails. For good measure, he scoops a bit of the powder and pours it into Ryoga’s cup. This is wrong, the voice repeats again. Thomas turns off the stove. I know. He pours the tea into both cups and watches as the powder dissolves. If Ryoga wouldn’t eat the cookies, he still had the tea. Pouring the rest of the tea into a teapot, he places everything on a tea service, mindful of which cup was his. 

Ah, his father’s secret stash was finally being put to good use. Despite their father’s cheerful demeanor from before, he had always suffered from terrible migraines. No safe amount of pain medication could alleviate the pain and therefore, Byron had chosen sleep as his solution. Thomas could always tell when Byron had taken some of his medicine, for his father walked unsteadily and his eyes were drooping. His words were slurred and he couldn’t walk up the stairs without assistance. The butler usually took him to his room whilst the maids tried their best to keep Thomas and his brothers from seeing their father in such a state. But Thomas had eventually seen it, secretly following his father around until he was led to the stash. 

When he arrives in the living room, he places the tea service on the coffee table. Carefully, he gives Ryoga his cup and takes a chocolate square for himself. Ryoga sourly takes his cup and looks down at it.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles, blowing away the steam.

“You should’ve called,” retorts Thomas. 

Ryoga rolls his eyes and grabs a cookie. He takes a large bite out of it and swallows. 

“So what’s the deal with your brother’s absences?” asks Ryoga. 

Thomas lets out a sigh and blows on his tea. From over the cup, he watches Ryoga’s reactions to his next words.

“He’s been very sick,” murmurs Thomas.

“Why didn’t you call, then?” asks Ryoga contemptuously. He takes another bite of the cookie. This time, there is a slight raising of his eyebrow as he tastes the cookie, but nothing else. 

Hopefully, the medicine didn’t offset the taste too much. This is wrong. 

“I’ve been so busy taking care of him that I forgot,” admits Thomas. “He’s bedridden and can’t speak.”

Ryoga acknowledges the reply with a nod. He scans the living room and blinks. The only sound that can be heard is the grandfather clock’s ticking. 

“Where’s your older brother and Tron?” 

Another sigh from Thomas. He takes a dainty sip of his tea and looks out the window. From the corner of his eye, he can tell that Ryoga’s sharp eyes have remained focused on him.

“Out in the Arctic lab. I’ve tried to reach them, but they aren’t answering.”

There’s a small shake of Ryoga’s head as he takes another bite.

“So III isn’t well enough to do his work, huh?” murmurs Ryoga as he looks at the stack of homework. “I’ll take it back then.”

“Don’t bother yourself. He’s too sick to do anything. Just stay here for a bit and talk. We haven’t had a proper conversation in...ages,” laughs Thomas. 

Ryoga takes a sip of his tea and takes another cookie. He had dirt under his nails and the skin around them were peeling. Thomas would fix that. Beautiful, sturdy limbs that would lock in place. Yes, that would be perfect. Ryoga quickly finishes the cookie and takes another one. On the other hand, Thomas is only halfway sucking through his chocolate. 

“I was so ready to get this over with, I didn’t even have breakfast,” Ryoga admits. 

“That’s fine! Eat as many as you’d like. We have so many of these, we don’t even know what to do with them,” chuckles Thomas.

Ryoga’s eyebrow raises as he takes a bite out of his third cookie. 

“You don’t get a lot of guests, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no. Can’t understand why though,” replies Thomas breezily. 

Another sip of tea. Followed by another finished cookie. Trying to hide his pleasure, Thomas begins another conversation. 

“How is your sister?” he begins quietly.

There’s a pause as Ryoga picks up a chocolate square. He then looks at Thomas with a guarded expression. 

“The occasional nightmare here and there...otherwise, she’s fine.”

Thomas drains his teacup and pours himself another one. 

“Me too.”

Immediately, Ryoga’s gaze sharpens. 

“Of course you should. It was a horrific thing to do to an innocent bystander.”

Much like Thomas, Ryoga’s teacup has emptied. 

“I’m truly sorry for what I did. I can’t tell you how much I’m sorry. I never knew that the card would have done such a thing. But I know it doesn’t excuse me,” says Thomas quietly. 

Ryoga nods with closed eyes. When he opens them, he glares at Thomas. 

“Does Tron still think about what he did?” growls Ryoga. 

The final letter from his father resurfaces in Thomas’s mind. 

“Yes. It haunts him every day,” replies Thomas emotionlessly.

So much that he left. 

Another nod from Ryoga. 

“He has a conscience, then. I never expected that.”

A spark of defensiveness flares in Thomas’s chest. Of course his father had a conscience. He knows when things are wrong, yet willingly does them anyways. Just like me. 

“We all regret our actions at one time or another,” says Thomas as he takes another chocolate square.

“Some more than others,” murmurs Ryoga, his eyes beginning to droop. 

“Ah, well that’s how life goes.”

Ryoga rests his cheek on his hand, quietly looking out the window. He made such a pretty sight, the sun shining against his purple curls. 

“Whenever there’s a period of calm in our lives, I’m always worried that there’s something lurking around the corner,” he confesses, deep blue eyes growing distant. 

They were so pretty, half closed like that. 

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore..,” reassures Thomas.

He begins to clean up the table, Ryoga sleepily observing his movements. Entering the kitchen, Thomas places the cookies on a counter and opens up the fridge. Surely, someone would be paying him a visit in a few days. Placing the plate in the fridge, he then empties the teapot’s contents into the sink. With a satisfied smile, he walks out to see Ryoga still sprawled on the couch, his eyes almost closed. Anger fills their depths. 

“That shit was drugged...wasn’t it?” growls Ryoga. “I’ll never forgive you.”

Shushing Ryoga, Thomas closes his eyes and holds Ryoga in his arms, waiting for his entire body to go limp. He would make an interesting doll. Cute and made to serve his every whim and need. Once he feels Ryoga’s breathing slow down, he smiles and carries him upstairs.


	20. Three

Three

Christopher watches in mute horror as Thomas forces himself down Michael’s throat. Tears stream down his brother’s face as he struggles against Thomas, his body useless against him. His throat bobs up and down as he swallows the precum, his lips moving back and forth. Every time this happens, Christopher is forced to watch. He’s seated on the throne, bedecked in their mother’s jewelry and face painted a garish white, helpless as his brother gets raped in front of him. What kind of a life was this? 

Disgust fills his every being, yet he can only mouth curses at Thomas. His brother looks at him helplessly, his pink curls splayed across his face. Eventually, Thomas pulls away and releases on Michael’s face. He holds Michael for a few moments, looking at his tear-streaked face with a cold smile. And then he lets him go, allowing Michael to uselessly fall onto the floor. Michael gasps for air, gagging at the taste in his mouth. His chest shudders with each breath, tears still trailing down his face. 

Thomas turns to Christopher and slowly walks towards him, as if he were a child abandoning a toy for a better one. He ignores Christopher’s appalled expression and strokes his cheek.  _ Don’t do this...for the love of God...Please don’t do this... _ mouths Christopher. He’s replied by a sweaty kiss on the lips and strong hands standing him up. Thomas’s fingers crawl down his back, undoing his stays.  _ Stop it! Stop!  _ Christopher lets out a hiss of frustration and shifts his weight backwards. He would rather fall and risk a concussion than be degraded like this again. 

Not expecting such force, Thomas’s support loosens and Christopher is released from his grip. As if time has slowed down, Christopher can feel every inch of his descent. Down...down...until his head thuds against the cushion of his seat. He winces in pain but looks back up at Thomas in defiance. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to be reduced to some much abused toy. Surprise passes by Thomas’s face. Then anger. A dark expression fills Thomas’s eyes, his mouth pressed into a firm line. When he speaks, his voice is low and menacing. In the background, even Michael has stopped crying. 

“How dare you reject me?” hisses Thomas. 

Swiftly, he rushes towards Christopher and wraps his fingers around his thin neck. He squeezes, causing a choked gasp to escape from Christopher. 

“Was the orphanage not enough for you?!” roars Thomas as he throttles Christopher. 

Only a choked exhale answers him, Christopher’s eyes filling with tears. The words that Christopher attempts to mouth are ignored. What little his body can do to struggle is firmly held back. 

“I am your master!” snaps Thomas as he releases Christopher. 

He strikes Christopher across the face, earning a gasp from Michael. The blow stings Christopher’s cheek, bringing more tears to Christopher’s eyes. Before he can take in a deep breath, Thomas slams his head against the marble floor. 

“All I’ve done for you...feed you...clothe you...entertain you...and I get paid with this?!” he snaps.

Christopher can hear the pearls wrapped around his head snap, the individual beads rolling away. He can feel his tears trickling down his cheeks, taste the blood in his mouth and the urgent need to breathe. Yet all he could do was struggle uselessly with what remained of his body, now so much like a worm’s.  _ I’m sorry,  _ he mouths weakly, feeling Thomas’s grip relax. He takes in a grateful shuddery breath of air.  _ I’m sorry.  _

“You’re nothing but a doll. And I am your master,” says Thomas coldly.

What did Christopher do to deserve such a thing? His gaze flickers to Michael, who has resumed crying. What did they both do to deserve such a thing? 

He feels Thomas’s hands roughly lifting him up and pushing him against a wall. He swallows hard and looks at Thomas with a plea in his eyes. Yet his hands continue to move emotionlessly down his back, roughly undoing the laces. When he pulls the dress off, Christopher struggles against it, the fabric catching in-between his shoulder and the porcelain arm. Thomas continues to pull, causing waves of pain to cascade throughout Christopher’s body. He feels the porcelain being separated from his flesh and lets out a soundless scream, his body shaking with pain. Realizing what was happening, Thomas roughly yanks the sleeve away from the groove and does away with the rest of the dress. 

The rest of his clothes are undone in quick succession. In no time at all, Christopher is bare of everything save for a pair of stockings. He feels Thomas’s hand run against the back of what remains of his thigh and shivers. Briefly, it pulls away and he hears the sound of a tube being squeezed. Biting his lips, he closes his eyes and tries to keep the tears at bay. What did he do to deserve this? Stifling a cry as Thomas’s fingers enter him, Christopher feels himself being pushed even harder against the wall. He’s been bent over, Thomas’s hand on his hip. There was something possessive in that grip and that fact missed neither of them. 

Tears of humiliation sting Christopher’s eyes. What Thomas was doing was disgusting. The way his fingers moved inside of his flesh disgusts him and he wants to scream. But he no longer has a voice or Thomas’s respect. He tries to think of other times, other places, but his mind keeps on returning here. Not even thoughts of Kaito can keep Thomas out. What was his friend doing anyways? Hasn’t he grown worried? How long had he been missing anyways? Kaito tended to communicate with him on a weekly basis. Yes...maybe Kaito would save him. He’s quickly pushed back into his current situation when the fingers pull out. He swallows hard, not wanting any of this but forced to accept all of it. 

When Thomas enters him, Christopher lets out a sob. He feels his tears dampen the cold walls, his cheek forcefully pressed against the wallpaper. If only he could die.  _ Back and forth. Back and forth.  _ When would this madness stop? Thomas’s breath brushes against his cheek, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Cheer up, both of you..,” murmurs Thomas. “This will be one of the last times I’ll play with you like this. The next doll will be specifically made for...such things.”

Christopher’s body grows rigid. A new doll? Of flesh, like him and Michael no, they weren’t dolls. They weren’t. Where would Thomas have even found them? No, it must be one of those realistic, silicone dolls. It couldn’t have been another person. The thought of Thomas making love to such a thing repulses Christopher almost as much as Thomas forcing himself on his brothers. Thomas’s hand strokes Christopher’s cock and immediately, Christopher stiffens at the unwanted contact. A chuckle bubbles up from Thomas’s throat. 

“Clearly, you haven’t learned to obey your master. Perhaps I should play with you more.”

_ No.  _ He would do anything for this to be the last time. Taking in a deep breath, Christopher bites his lip and allows his body to move into a rhythm with Thomas.  _ One last time. One last time _ . Then it would be a piece of silicone’s turn.  _ Yes _ . He tells himself the same words again and again, trying to believe it. But he has never been good at lying to himself. The new doll would have been a person once. Of flesh and blood. But who? 

Soon after, he feels Thomas finish inside of him. Withdrawing, Thomas zips up his trousers and flips Christopher over. A pitiful smile graces Thomas’s lips. A thing once so proud was now reduced to a tear-stained wreck. Eyeliner runs down Christopher’s cheeks and stray locks of hair cover his face. He couldn’t even look at Thomas directly, his eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. Gently, Thomas’s brushes his lips against Christopher’s wet cheeks. 

He picks Christopher up and heads towards the door. 

“Let’s get both of you a bath.”


	21. Scars

Scars

The steam swirls around them, each of them seated at opposite sides of the bathtub. There wasn’t enough water to drown oneself in, notes Christopher. They were unable to slip onto their backs and have the water submerge their face, for their feet were pressed against each other’s. If they leaned forwards, the water would not be high enough. 

Thomas was off somewhere, saying that he was going to prepare the next doll. Looking at one another, Christopher and Michael saw the ravages of the operations on each other’s bodies. Michael’s plastic limbs contrasted with his skin color slightly. It jutted out of his shoulders unnaturally, the ball joints looking entirely out of place. He knows that Michael must be seeing similar things on his body and he winces. 

_Does it hurt?_ mouths Michael timidly. _Only when he moves it,_ replies Christopher. A long sigh escapes from Michael and he looks down at the water. _I thought someone would have saved us by now_. Christopher nods quietly. If only he could hold Michael in his arms like he used to and tell him that all would be right in the end. But nothing would be all right in the end. Not after this. 

_Do you think he hates us?_ asks Michael after a long silence. It’s strange how fast Christopher and Michael have learned to read each other’s lips. Perhaps it was because when one had nothing to do but sit and serve as a decoration, one would do anything for entertainment or stimulation. _No, I don’t think so,_ replies Christopher. _He’s just lost_. As much as he would like to scream and say that Thomas was being a cruel and idiotic child, he could not set a bad example in front of Michael. Even like this. Especially like this. 


	22. Artist’s Work

Artist’s Work

The limbs would need to be finished quickly. Before  _ she  _ came. Thomas looks at the two arms with bloodshot eyes. Long after he had laid his dolls to rest, he had diligently worked on the new doll’s limbs. Every single part of the arm was moveable, from every section of finger to to the shoulders. The hooks and loops slightly jutted out in order to ensure that the doll would remain posed the way the master desired. He had hurriedly ordered clothes for the doll, buying whatever struck his fancy. 

Ryoga would look so cute in all of them, his little moans causing Thomas to tease him even more. He’d come to like it eventually. Soon, his anger would be replaced with joy. Thomas downs another energy drink and proceeds to work on the legs. Silently, he prays that  _ she  _ would give him a few days before she came. 

_ This is wrong and you know it,  _ a voice tells him as he looks at the leg preserved in formaldehyde.  _ But it’s too late now. Ryoga will never be able to walk or move his arms again.  _ The leg is smooth and pale. Not a single bit of hair is seen. Ryoga was quite meticulous in his appearance, wasn’t he? Thomas licks his lips as he imagines Ryoga’s body contorted into a pose with his new limbs. Ryoga would have no choice but to love his master. 


	23. Eyes Open, Mouth Closed

Eyes Open, Mouth Closed

Ryoga opens his eyes, a whimper escaping from his throat. He can barely remember anything, his head feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton. What did he take last night? Was he ripped off by his dealer? He knew he shouldn’t have trusted them. He should have stuck with the barianite. It was cheap and easy to obtain for the likes of him. Although lately it hadn’t been as effective as before. _ Ugh _. He knows he shouldn’t do such things, but life had become inconceivably dull for him the past few years. 

A dull pang fills his body and he shifts uncomfortably. His dealer will definitely be hearing from him along with a few other things. _ No. Wait. _IV. Tears? But Ryoga wouldn’t cry. What would have made him cry anyways? Unless he was so out of it, he couldn’t remember...Apparently, there had been times when he had been given a bad batch and spent most of the high locked up somewhere crying. But barianite didn’t do that to him. And he could remember exactly what happened to him after he took barianite. 

Loss…? The feeling of it…? What was taken from him? His head feels so heavy...No. This wasn’t something he had taken of his free will. He was drugged. The cookies. The tea. IV had never touched the cookies, now that he thinks of it. He only nibbled on a chocolate square. _ Damnit, damnit all. _ Just what the hell did IV want with him? There’s holes in his memory. He knows it. There was something cold and metallic against his back. He’s pretty sure he was strapped to it. But why? _ A knife. A marker. A saw. _The hell? Did IV want his organs? Well, he must have been pretty disappointed when he opened Ryoga up. 

Someone is running their lips down his chest. Swallowing, Ryoga grimaces at the dryness. 

“Fuck off..,” growls Ryoga, trying to bat them away. 

His arms don’t obey him and he grimaces. Sleep paralysis? At a time like this? Fighting the urge to go back to sleep, Ryoga groggily opens up his eyes. He’s so cold...and then he sees IV and his blood freezes. 

“F...four?!” exclains Ryoga. “What are you…”

He tries to back away, but he’s against a wall. Thomas looks down at him, a smile playing on his lips. Ryoga tries to move his legs, scoot away, anything...but he can’t. Looking down at his legs, his breath catches in his throat. Hooks and loops with joints. What kind of a sick joke was this? And what was he wearing anyways? _ Lingerie? _Black and lacy with red accents, a sheer silk piece of fabric serving as thin covering. 

Oh gods, what kind of sick fantasy was this? Swallowing hard, he glares up at IV. 

“What the hell, IV?!” he snaps.

Yet IV continues to smile, tickling Ryoga under the chin. Ryoga scowls in return. 

“Answer me,” demands Ryoga. “What the hell is this?”

_ Oh, he was so cute. _

“From now on, you will call me master,” says Thomas as he runs a finger down Ryoga’s chest. 

“Shut up!” shouts Ryoga. He tries to move again but to no avail. “What the fuck did you do to me?!” 

“You’re a doll now!” laughs Thomas. “Just like the others!” 

The...others? Ryoga scans the room and stops when he sees a doll with pink and chocolate curls. Its deep green eyes holds his gaze for a few moments. Then, it blinks and Ryoga nearly screams. _ Please... _mouths the doll. Its lips continue to move, but Ryoga is no longer able to process. Instead, he focuses on a regally dressed doll. Its cold and elegant beauty was reminiscent of the eldest Arclight brother. The resemblance was too much. He swallows hard and is about to turn away when the doll turns to him. Immediately, Ryoga’s heart leaps to his throat. 

_ That must be him. _Those piercing blue eyes, now so sad. That tricolored mass of hair that was now organized into a tower of curls. Skin that was so pale, now even more so. Like that of a corpse’s. _Ryoga.., _V mouths. His eyes are pleading, rimmed by thick eyelashes. There was something nightmarish about all the makeup he wore, making him seem more severe than usual. 

Once again, Ryoga turns to III. He’s still trying to communicate with his panicked mouthing. Turning back to IV, Ryoga begins to feel the first spark of fear. 

“Aren’t they beautiful?” asks Thomas, his voice ringing across the room. “I created their new limbs myself.” 

New limbs…? Ryoga looks down at his own arms and legs. He swallows hard. Either this was real or he had overdosed on something that wasn’t barianite. 

“Wh...what do you mean? Wh-why aren’t they moving? Why can’t they speak?”

Ryoga can’t help but let the panic creep into his voice. Thomas notices and gives him a reassuring pat on his head. He would rather wake up in a hospital, connected by tubes and a dialysis machine, his kidneys completely devastated by the drugs he had taken than to this. This was too much. 

“They’re dolls. I had to remove their original limbs and give them more suitable ones. And they can’t speak because they don’t have vocal cords anymore,” explains Thomas calmly. “After all, these kind of dolls don’t have voices, so why should they?”

A whimper escapes from Ryoga’s throat. 

“Then...w-why can I speak?” 

Thomas gives him a beautiful smile that in other situations, Ryoga would have sneered at. 

“Because. I want to hear your cries and helpless pleading when I play with you.” 

Those words make Ryoga want to escalate into full-blown panic. When Thomas picks him up, Ryoga feels a tightening in his chest. The effects of the sedative were beginning to wear off, much to his dread. Reality was coming in, whether he liked it or not. M...maybe he had signed up to film an adult video? With IV? But why would III and V be there? Then why could he no longer feel his arms and legs? No, no...this...this must be reality. 

V and III’s eyes follow him piteously. Their mouths have stopped moving. 

“Why are you doing this…?” asks Ryoga, trying to fill in the void of panic.

“Is it too much to ask to be loved?” murmurs Thomas as he carries Ryoga into his room. 

He places Ryoga on the bed and proceeds to kiss his neck. 

“Stop,” begs Ryoga. “I don’t want this…”

Thomas pulls away, cupping Ryoga’s face in his hands. _ Ah, fear. _

“You don’t have a choice in this..,” murmurs Thomas as he pulls off the silk covering. 

“No! Stop! Back off or I’ll…”

What could he do? He could barely move. There’s an amused smirk on Thomas’s face as he unhooks the bra and pulls it away. A whimper escapes from Ryoga’s throat as Thomas’s finger hooks onto the edge of the panties. When he pulls it off, Ryoga lets out another whimper. _ He’s so cold. _

Moments later, the dolls in the dolls’ room hear a bloodcurdling set of screams. A new doll had been born.


	24. Reunification

Reunification

Where the hell could Ryoga be? It had been three days after she had told him to stop by the Arclight mansion and to check in on III. Her patience was wearing thin. He must have dashed off with IV on an impromptu trip or something. Rio rolls her eyes. Much to her chagrin, Ryoga often disappeared like this for days. She hasn’t heard anything about him or III. Maybe he didn’t even stop by and just rode off somewhere. Maybe he was floating facedown in a river somewhere because he had taken something that had finally been too much for him.

Yuma had been needlessly worrying for the past few days, being constantly reassured by alternating barian emperors that their leader was off on one of his usual disappearances. Although the events of the numbers war had long passed, the memories still remained along with the occasional nightmares. Like Ryoga, they all disappeared every once in awhile to forget, once the memories became too much. Alit and Gilag went off to the mountains to train. Durbe tended to book flights to other countries. Where he got the money, no one ever knew, but he didn’t seem to be harming anyone. Mizael tended to go with him. Much like Ryoga, no one knew exactly where Vector went and no one questioned him. 

For herself, Rio tended to go on excessive plant buying sprees. Gardening made her forget about the painful memories of the ocean, the soft dirt reassuring in her hands. It was always there, like the ground. Ever present. Not like water, which gave way and was always secretly hungry. She looks at the slightly wilting plants in the Arclight mansion’s front yard. This place had so much potential...some flowers there...perhaps some shrubbery...The plants should complement the centerpiece fountain, with its majestically carved animals prancing amongst the water. 

But she needed to focus. She raps on the large door and waits. Sometimes, she didn’t know what Ryoga would do without her. She was like his anchor in his sea of rolling storms and confusion. A few moments pass by. Her watch reads  _ 3:20. _ The petunias at home were in need of some tending. She should buy some other flowers to match their color and move them to a sunnier place. Perhaps no one was home. But why was V’s car still there? Letting out a frustrated sigh, Rio prepares to turn around. 

Ryoga must have been with someone else. Why would he willingly go on a joyride with IV, anyways? And a 3-day trip at that? They couldn’t even have a civil conversation that lasted for an hour.  _ Creak.  _ The door opens and Rio stiffens, her back already turned. 

“Rio,” calls a male voice. 

Slowly turning back, she’s surprised to see that IV hasn’t changed at all. He looks the same as he does on the posters, just a bit more approachable. 

“Hello IV. Have you seen my brother?” asks Rio. “He’s been missing for the past three days.”

Thomas raises a quizzical eyebrow. He then backs up and invites Rio in with a motion of his hand. 

“He was here a few days ago, checking on III...But after I told him that III was very ill, he went on his way. I haven’t heard from him since. Can I get us some refreshments?”

“No, but thank you. I have some gardening to do along with some schoolwork,” declines Rio. “I just wanted to ask about my brother.”

“I see..,” murmurs Thomas. “Are you sure you can’t spend a few moments telling me more? I want to help and...also talk to you.”

Rio lets out a sigh. The confrontation had to come eventually. She had always known that for a fact. Might as well get it over with. She gives Thomas a nod and walks into the Arclight mansion. The smell of polished wood fills her senses. As she is led into the living room, she can’t help but notice how eerily quiet it is. For a home that had walls covered in joyful family photographs, the family was strangely absent. Perhaps it was lonely to be Thomas when his services were not needed. Everyone else had research or school to do. 

Thomas opens the door to the living room and waits for her to enter. He closes the door behind her and takes a seat across from the sofa. Sitting on the sofa, Rio looks at the grandfather clock. 

“I really should be going soon, though. I’ve been neglecting the petunias for too long,” Rio says.

A chuckle escapes from Thomas. 

“I didn’t know you enjoyed gardening.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” replies Rio, looking at Thomas directly in the eyes. 

Quickly, Thomas averts his gaze. 

“If you’re not eating, I think I’ll have some snacks anyways,” says Thomas as he walks towards the kitchen. 

Rio crosses her arms and leans back into the cushions. 

“Suit yourself.”

From the moment she stepped into the house, she had decided that taking food from the person who (accidentally) burned her was not a good idea. Even if he meant well, she still could not bring herself to trust him. Perhaps he had been lying to her about Ryoga. Scanning the living room, she notices that the photos on the walls are all outdated. The Arclight brothers were still young boys and their father was still a man. How innocent Thomas looked, seated next to the family dog. He still retained a bit of his boyish charm, especially in his smile. So much energy...No wonder more than half of Heartland was captivated by his charm. 

She closes her eyes, thinking back to the childhood she and Ryoga supposedly had. Laughter, a comfortable life...taken away in a single night. All the needless suffering that she and Ryoga had been forced through just because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the wake of their parents’ deaths, she remembers that she did not cry. All she could feel was emptiness. That something more important had been taken from them than their parents.

It would take more than 10 years later for them to discover that it had been their memories that were taken from them. Nasch and Merag had been inhabiting the bodies of the dead twins ever since the car accident. Like parasites. There were some nights where she did not know who or what she was. She and her brother had chosen to continue to go by the twins’ names in order to not arouse suspicion. And as a means to forget the past. Still, Rio couldn’t stand the sight of the ocean and Ryoga always stayed away from the history museum and its collection of swords. 

The sound of the grandfather clock fills the room. If she listens closely, she can hear Thomas busying himself in the kitchen. Outside, a lone bird calls. A crow’s harsh cry. How omnious for such a sunny autumn day. And...somewhere upstairs, someone is crying and moaning. Rio pauses, trying to isolate the sound. Perhaps it was her imagination. Perhaps it was just the old memories resurfacing. But...She leans closer to where the sound is coming from. No. It’s oddly familiar and she doesn’t know why. 

Standing up, she begins to follow the sound. Down the hall...towards the front door...up the elegant staircase. Uneasiness fills her chest as she climbs up the steps. She doesn’t know how Thomas would react, but she’d rather not find out. The crying is louder now at the top of the stairs. Pausing for a few moments, realization creeps up her back. 

The cries sounded like Ryoga. But...it couldn’t have been. Why would Ryoga even be here? Hesitantly, she continues to follow the sound, glued to the walls. Something’s wrong here. 

“Rio? Where did you go?” calls Thomas from downstairs. 

Rio swallows hard but continues to push on.  _ Keep calm. Keep calm.  _ The first rule of law school. Maybe it was just Thomas’s rumored love child. Or III. Or a video of something unsavory. But it sounded too much like Ryoga. 

“Rio?” calls Thomas again. There’s an edge of fear in his tone. 

He’s scared of something. But what? Is he hiding something? Quickening her pace, she can hear the cries becoming louder and louder. It’s undeniable now. Ryoga’s voice was the source of the crying. She still doesn’t know exactly why he’s crying, but she has a pretty good idea. He was most likely riding off a bad trip and stumbled into the Arclight mansion before the visons became too much. In her imagination, she sees him furiously knocking on the door and a confused IV answering him. She can almost hear him begging Thomas to not tell her and to lie for him. And then she sees him curled into a fetal position, crying and rocking himself as he’s subjected to nightmarish sights. 

The last time such a thing happened, he claimed that he had seen Heartland City burn. It had been filled with robot dogs that shot flames out of their mouths and masked soldiers that swarmed the roads like insects. They had massacred every civilian in sight, imprisoning them into cards. Vector couldn’t stop laughing about the vision for days. Even Gilag had drawn a supposed “robot dog” as a joke. To this day, it was still a joke amongst the barians. Turning one’s enemies into cards was ridiculous. All of the barians would have taken a sword (or a fist, in Alit’s case) than cards to defeat their true enemies. 

_ This room must have been it.  _ She leans her ear against the wood and hears the crying, louder than ever. No matter what the barians did, Ryoga would occasionally come home with a new drug or two. He’d lock himself in the bathroom and inject, eat, snort or smoke whatever he brought home late at night. Often, they would hear his laughter, screams or sobs well until dawn. Sometimes, the memories became too much to bear. 

She’d expect the same scene here. Bracing herself for a drug-induced attack, she opens the door. The sight in front of her disorients her for a few moments. Dolls. Shelves and shelves of them. An elegant canopy bed with navy blue curtains. A table in the middle with a porcelain tea set and a life-sized doll seated in one of the chairs. Its eyes are closed, its long lashes dusting its cheeks. And then Ryoga, stretched out on the floor, his arms and legs pulled across the four directions of the room with chains. They seemed to nearly budge out of their sockets.

“Ryoga…?” calls Rio. 

She still doesn’t know what’s going on, but that won’t stop her. Her brother stops crying for a few moments and weakly lifts his head. His eyes widen in shock. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” he gasps. 

“What is going on here?! I’ve been looking for you for three days now!”

“He cut off my limbs. Get the fuck out of here before he finds you!” shouts Ryoga. 

Rio still can’t believe what she’s hearing. Perhaps Ryoga was still on drugs. She slowly approaches her brother. What would she do with him? Sometimes, he was just so— _ hooks _ . Tiny metal loops. That jutted out of his arms and legs that were stretched thin. She could see the blood trickling from her brother's shoulders and pelvis. If he requested to be restrained like this during a drug trip, she wouldn't have been surprised. But this…? this was unnatural. Hesitantly, she touches a limb.  _ Silicone _ , a voice in her mind tells her. What in the world…?

She looks back at her brother and sees his eyes widen and fear. Before she can ask him, she feels a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. Swiftly, one arm presses the cloth against her nose. She’s seen enough movies to know what could happen. Holding her breath, she steps on her attacker’s toes and bashes her head against the person's chin. The sound of teeth gnashing and a shout of pain follows. Elbowing her attacker’s ribs, she breaks free and whirls around. She knew she shouldn't have trusted him. IV looks at her in pain. The cloth in his hands is still there. He blocks the doorway and Rio grimaces. Time to put her athletic skills to the test.

“What did you do to him?!” snaps Rio as she bends her knees, ready to anticipate any movement. 

Her fists are up and she feels the energy pulsing through her veins. It's like the fire all over again.

“I did what I had to do,” replies IV as he approaches her.

Rio holds her ground, fists raring to go. She mustn't move back. That would give her opponent an advantage. And she couldn’t have that.

“You’re going to let Ryoga go and I’m going to call the authorities on you,” she declares. 

“Not after all the work I’ve put into him,” hisses IV.

Thomas rushes forwards and Rio aims her punch towards his chest. Unexpectedly, he ducks, Rio’s fist meeting the side of his nose instead. She doesn't hear the sound of anything breaking, but she does see the gush of blood pouring from Thomas's nose. He glares at her and grabs the hand that punched him, twisting it in the wrong direction. Rio lets out a cry of pain and kicks him in the shin. In a flash, Thomas releases her hand and pushes her to the ground. As he procures the chloroform cloth and straddles her, Rio’s arm shoots out and holds him up by the chest. She glares at him with pure fury, her legs twisting to get free. Before she can do anything truly damaging, Thomas forces the cloth onto her nose and slams his palm onto Rio’s chest. Rio is forced to let out a sharp exhale and then involuntarily breathe in. As he sees her magenta eyes roll to the back of her head, he's come to an important decision. Leaden limbs. Definitely. Anything else would be too dangerous. 


	25. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are reading as of August 14, check the first chapter again! There’s links to cover art!

Names

“Aren’t you excited? She’ll be so lovely when she’s done..,” says Thomas giddily as he brushes Ryoga’s hair. 

It takes all of Ryoga’s self control to not scream. The thought of seeing his sister mutilated just like him brings a mixture of anger and sadness to his chest. Rio, who had been a beacon of light for him, forced to join this sick parade. She would be so angry at IV. Even more than him. Her fury burned bright white, so cold that it burned. On the other hand, he showed his anger with his fists. Short term, his anger was terrifying. But his sister’s anger had the ability to span for years, eating away at the target day and night. If any of IV’s dolls would kill him, it would be Rio. He doesn’t know how she’d do it, but he knows she would eventually find a way. Not even Vector dared to push her limits. 

And if IV—no, Thomas—thought that his sister would allow herself to be played with, he was wrong. She’d bite him, not caring about the punishment afterwards. Whatever IV—Thomas did to her would mean nothing. She had been torn apart by the ocean, piece by piece as the priestess Merag. Contrary to belief, she did not drown. Instead, the sacrifice had required fresh blood to intermix with the ocean water. The only way she could have done such a thing at such a dire moment was to summon a whirlpool that would tear her to shreds once she hopped in. And the rest was history. He knew his sister was made of iron, infallible and unforgiving. Sometimes, he doubted that she was completely human. 

IV had met his match.  _ No. Thomas. Thomas. Thomas.  _ Thomas gets upset if he’s called IV. The bruises around Ryoga’s neck tingle at the thought. Thomas. Yes. And not V and III. Not Christopher or Michael either. Just ‘The Queen’ and ‘Rose.’ Dolls. Not people. And himself...he was no longer Ryoga, not that that name was his in the first place. Today, his name was Veronica. Depending on the costume he wore or the mood Thomas was in, his name would be changed in accordance. 

Noticing Ryoga’s silence, Thomas pokes his cheek. He’s answered by a flinch. 

“Aren’t you excited?” whispers Thomas. 

There’s a warning edge to his master’s voice. Ryoga swallows. He meets Thomas’s eyes and forces his mouth into a pout.  _ Play your stupid part and you’ll get on with him just fine. No one but V and III are listening anyways and they can’t talk,  _ he thinks snappishly. But that is all that he allows his anger to manifest to. Just his thoughts.

“Veronica doesn’t like it because Veronica is jealous. What if Veronica is no longer master’s favorite?” asks Ryoga in a childish voice. He wants to grab the nearest hairpin and stab Thomas’s eye out with it. 

Immediately, Thomas’s smile reappears and he gives Ryoga a kiss on the forehead. A sigh of relief slides out of Ryoga’s mouth. He feels Thomas’s hand creep under his jacket and leans towards him despite the disgust welling in his chest. Someday he’d be able to find a way to kill him. Just not today. 

“You’ll always be my favorite, silly. You’re the most fun,” teases Thomas as he stands Ryoga up. 

“Don’t lie,” says Ryoga as he turns away. 

Like a butterfly in a garden of flowers, Thomas never had a singular favorite for long. He was always fluttering back and forth, from him, to Rose and to the Queen. Ryoga supposes that there was a bit of a good thing there. It meant that he was willing to take care of them and not leave them in a corner to starve to death. And it would have been so easy for Thomas to do so. Two thirds of them couldn’t make a noise. He could just seat them on a shelf and ignore them for a few days and then come back to a corpse. And then he would throw them out, like a spoiled child. The thought of dying like that makes Ryoga grimace. 

After dying in battle as Nasch, that kind of death would be lackluster and pathetic. As Thomas drags him towards the wall, he leans towards him with a desperate fervor. Yes. He was playing along. But deep down, he knows that he’s desperate to stay alive. Dying was so painful. He would suffer anything save for death. The end of everything. With the original Ryoga’s memories also in his mind, he has experienced death twice now. One was a thrust through his heart with a sword, coupled with arrows pelting his body as he fell and the second was an excruciatingly loud and painful death as his body flew through the glass, shards embedded into his skin. Nasch died with the smell of blood and sweat in his senses. Ryoga died with the smells of his own blood and flesh burning. No. He would not die here, amidst perfumed finery and peace. 

He allows Thomas to explore his mouth with his tongue, despising every moment of it. A hand creeps down Ryoga’s skirt, teasing the skin underneath. When Thomas finally pulls away, Ryoga bites down a desperate gasp of air. Taking in air through his nose, he attempts to calm himself as Thomas proceeds to remove the rest of his clothes. He hates this part the most, feeling as if the mask Thomas laid onto him was being torn apart, piece by piece, forcing him to return to his true self. All of his hard work, playing along with the character Thomas invented for him, undone. Didn’t he know how hard it was, forced to swallow his true self and to pretend to be someone he wasn’t every single morning? 

No. He supposes not. To Thomas, pretending to be someone he wasn’t came naturally. 

“I love you, Veronica,” murmurs Thomas as he runs his lips down Ryoga’s chest. 

“I—Veronica...Veronica loves you too,” mutters Ryoga as he’s pushed against the wall. 

It’s so cold. He wants to scream. He wants to resist. But after the first few times, he knows he can’t unless he wants to be punished. 

_ “You want to be human again? Alright then.” _

_ _ Thomas’s words from a week ago send a shiver down Ryoga’s spine as he remembers them. His new limbs had been forcibly pulled, sending pain up his recently closed shoulders and hips. His screams had filled the night as he was stretched painfully, his blood pooling onto the floor. Whether he liked it or not, the limbs that Thomas had given to him belonged to his body now. He remembers how his limbs had been stretched to the point where he was forced to beg to be Thomas’s fuck doll. Anything to stop the pain that crawled all over his body like fire.

_ “Will you be good?” _

_ “Y-yes…!” _

_ “Will you do as I say?” _

_ “Y...yes! Please…!”  _

_ “Okay then. Your name is now Alice and I’m Jack the Ripper. Scream for me.”  _

_ _ And he did, out of pain and out of desperation. Tears slid down his cheeks as Thomas mercilessly fucked him, causing his limbs to be pulled from his flesh even more. Yet no one came for him. He thought he was going to die another violent death until Thomas leaned down and kissed him. Although the rest of his memories became a blur of pain and humiliation afterwards, he remembered one clear thought:  _ This would become a fate worse than death _ . 

Thomas’s hand roughly enters Ryoga’s mouth, toying with his tongue.  _ Fucking bite him,  _ hisses a voice in his head. But the memory of silicone being forcibly yanked from his flesh causes him to play along with Thomas’s whims. Veronica likes this. Ryoga despises it. But Ryoga can wait.


	26. In the Realm of Poseidon

In the Realm of Poseidon

The sound of the ocean waves fill her mind. It seemed so calm, but that was merely a mask. Beneath the waves was an angry world of eat-or-be-eaten. The priestess was married to the land and the land to her. The most memorable priestesses were the ones who were sacrificed to the ocean, fulfilling her duty as the wife of Poseidon. Those priestesses would become eternally one with the ocean, their bodies melding with the waves. That was why the ocean was constantly changing. 

“Women and their moods,” a voice quips with a chuckle. 

It’s her brother, Nasch. But she cannot speak back, her body submerged beneath the waves in bits and pieces. With a mighty toss, Nasch throws a bouquet of flowers into the waves. She raises her hand in the form of a wave and catches the flowers. Poseidon flowers with silvery petals and her personal favorite, crocuses. If only she could smile. Slowly, she brings the flowers across the waves so that the rest of her body could savor the blossoms. Ah, yes. Today was the festival of women. Had she still been alive, she would have been there instead of her brother, making the floral sacrifice to the priestesses before her. 

Thinking of her brother eases the excruciating pain a bit. Who knew that marriage was so painful? Although she had never been allowed to love anyone but the land and water, she had always thought that love was a joyous thing. Part pain, part laughter. Somewhere was her skull, fish-eaten sockets staring up at the stars. Her arms’ bones were scattered around the moat of the palace. Distantly, she sensed that one of her toe bones had come to the mouth of a streambed. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, condemned to observe for the rest of eternity. The dark voice that often visited her whispered of release and a new body, but she had resisted. She would remain where her brother was and would do her best to follow wherever he went. 

Her mind felt as if it was clogged with water, thoughts waving back and forth. She’s unable to hold onto coherent thoughts for long, her thoughts floating away with the current. If only she could clear the water away and think. Speak. Breathe in the sweet spring air. Oh, what would she give to smell the sweet crocuses again! 

Rio takes in a deep breath of air, jolting awake. She opens her eyes to darkness and panic fills her chest. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move? Instead of the sweet scent of flowers, the smell of cleaning chemicals fill her senses. Like a hospital. Memories after the fire fill her mind. She lies back down, trying to move the rest of her body but to no avail. She feels rough restraints against her skin and hisses in frustration. Just what was going on?! Think. Think. What happened? Her mind still feels groggy and she shakes her head as best as she can. _Why can’t I see?!_ Bandages? No. She didn’t feel anything over her face. _Then why…? _

When she tries to speak, nothing comes out except air. Unable to see. Unable to speak. Unable to move. Her pulse begins to accelerate. Don’t tell me everything had just been a dream. Perhaps she was still underneath the waves, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. Perhaps Nasch died and she was unable to follow him. But the voice had promised...Don Thousand. No. It had not been a dream. Durbe. Gilag. Mizael. Vector. Alit. Nasch. Merag. They had suffered too much for it all to be just a dream. Rio struggles against her bonds even more, gritting her teeth. Blood was rushing through her ears. Yes, yes she was alive. 

Trying to scream, she bites her lip in pain as her throat throbs. Nothing but air. She takes in a few deep breaths, trying to remember what exactly had happened. IV. Yes. Her brother had gone missing for three days. She went to look for him. The silicone limbs resurface in her memory and she stiffens. So that’s where he went. And then the ensuing fight. She remembers how IV’s blood had fallen onto her favorite blouse, the blue one with the white flowers. Feeling the cold air on her shoulders, she knows that it’s no longer on her and grimaces. 

And then she remembers the chloroform cloth pressed onto her nose. Then darkness. Light. Then darkness. As if she was sinking up and down in the ocean. IV was to blame for this. She knows that. Where the hell was he? Once she could see again, she would teach him a lesson. Feel his neck in her hands, squeezing and squeezing. Although he had tried to save her life once, what he did to Ryoga was unacceptable. 

_Creeeaakk_...Footsteps. Lifting her head to the sound, she then hears the sound of something being pushed on wheels. She wasn’t alone. Fighting against her restraints, she hears the wheels stop and the footsteps accelerating into a run. Murmured curses. Anger. Then something shifts besides her. Something is put over her nose and mouth and she struggles against it. 

“Sshh...You’ll be complete soon,” whispers IV’s voice. 

Just what did he mean? She tries to turn towards him and ask him a question, but the darkness filling her mind is too powerful. Feeling her body sinking back into the ocean, she takes in a deep breath just as the water goes over her head.


	27. The Others

The Others

“Any sign of them?” asks Alit worriedly.

Durbe shakes his head and massages his temples. The fourth visit to the police station had yielded nothing once again. 

“I’m sure they’ll be back any day,” says Vector from the back of the room. 

His hands are folded behind his head and he rocks back and forth on his seat. He lazily sucks on his lollipop as if the month-long disappearance of their leaders was not at all worrying. 

“Nasch was always getting into trouble with the street gangs. Do you think they have him?” muses Mizael from his cup of tea. 

“The authorities are still investigating that. For now, all we can do is ask around,” murmurs Durbe as he takes a pile of “Missing” posters from Gilag. 

Vector snorts, disrupting the silence. Mizael and Durbe glare at him while Alit and Gilag exchange worried glances. 

“I’m sure they’re doing just fine. More memories on the mind than usual,” says Vector nonchalantly. “You’re worrying for no good reason.” 

Durbe swallows hard and adjusts his glasses. 

“I wish I could agree with you.”


	28. The Marionette

The Marionette

Something is weighing her shoulders down. Blearily opening her eyes, she is still surrounded by darkness. There's something in her eyes now, though. Reaching to feel it, she realizes that she still can't move or feel any of her arms. Blinking a few times, she is still shrouded in darkness. A sense of panic flutters in her chest. When she tries to speak, nothing escapes from her throat but air. The panic increases. Taking in a deep breath, she tries to move her legs. Nothing. At around her hips, she loses feeling of everything. Going back to her arms, she can only feel up to her shoulders. After that, there's only coldness. As if they had been cut off. 

Ryoga. Memories of seeing her brother at the Arclight mansion return. “He cut off my limbs”, whispered her brother. She remembers the struggle that transpired when IV discovered her. The feel of the cloth against her nose makes her want to gag. And then darkness. Then a brief period of waking up. IV’s voice. “You’ll be complete soon.” Once again darkness. And now here she was, unable to move, speak or see. No. No. No. No. The realization hits her like a crashing wave. Before she can stifle it, a scream escapes her. It's a strangled, breathy, creaking sound, sending shivers even down her own spine. It didn't sound human. It sounded more like a monster from the depths of hell. 

“Rio..?” whispers a familiar voice. 

Ryoga. He was still alive. Rio tries to turn towards the voice, struggling against her lack of limbs. 

“You’ve been gone for three months,” continues Ryoga. “I thought he killed you.”

There is no joy in the final sentence. Did IV mutilate her that badly? She wets her lips and opens her mouth. What did he do to me? she mouths. A small prayer is said in the back of her mind, hoping that her brother could read lips. There’s a long pause and she’s scared that Ryoga’s left her. When her brother quietly replies, she feels a hint of relief. 

“He told me that he took your eyes out...and replaced them with glass eyes. And your arms are suspended by thick wires. They seem to be made of heavy material, like metal. He doesn’t want you to be able to move. And...like V and III, he’s removed your vocal cords. It takes awhile for me to read lips...so don’t worry about the long pauses,” reassures Ryoga. 

It takes awhile for Rio to process what her brother has told her. So her fears have been confirmed. She could no longer move her arms and legs because they had been removed. Her eyes had been replaced with glass eyes, rendering her completely blind. A small voice in her head wonders if they were as beautiful as her real eyes. She quickly shakes the thought away, more worried about what she would do with her current body. She no longer had a means to properly speak, making her a mute. And she was suspended by cables. Like a puppet. 

The urge to scream fills her chest again, but she is able to silence it this time. Ryoga had mentioned III and V. IV’s missing brothers. Were they also...like this? She dreads to ask the question but she knows that she must. _We’re not alone? _she mouths. Unexpectedly, her brother’s reply is fast. 

“No. III was missing because IV did this to him first. He’s sitting at the table. Then came V. Right now, he’s in another room getting dressed. He takes a while, so during this time, we can talk.” 

Rio pauses for a bit, swallowing hard. She still can’t fully believe that this is happening. _How long have III and V been like this? _she asks. To be honest, she’s a bit fearful of Ryoga’s answer. If they had been trapped here for a long time, then that meant that IV had gotten away with this for quite awhile. Who knew when he would be discovered for his crimes? 

“...four months,” replies Ryoga. 

Quietly, Rio lets out a sigh of relief. So it hasn’t been that long. If she and Ryoga had been missing for only three months, then the authorities must still be searching for them. It would be any time now that they would be found and IV arrested. Or so she told herself. 

_They’re looking for us, aren’t they?_ asks Rio, her hope increasing. The pause between Ryoga’s reply made the hope rise even further. Yes. Any time now. With enough rehabilitation and restorative operations, this would merely become just another terrible experience of the past. She imagines her and her brother riding around Heartland City, drinking in the sights and sounds. They would be free from IV’s shadow, the man that had haunted their lives behind bars or dead. Yes, that would be their future. 

Wishful thinking, she knows, but at least there was a chance of being saved. 

“The authorities questioned him a few days ago as their prime suspect. But he somehow made an excuse and got away with it,” mutters Ryoga. 

There’s a pause as her brother emotionally braces himself. She could hear it through his deep breath and the shifting of his joints. To the best of his abilities, he must have been straightening his posture, ready to say something difficult. 

“When he came back from being questioned, he was furious. He...played...with me harder than usual.” 

Rio’s lip curls at the term. Like a toy. No, her brother would never use a term like that normally. Play? she mouths, her blood beginning to boil. There’s another pause, longer this time. Ryoga takes in a deep, shuddery breath. When he speaks, his voice is devoid of all emotion. 

“...he rapes me. I’m his...his sex doll.”

The words hit Rio with a powerful force and she grits her teeth. Briefly, she remembers how Ryoga had been stretched out with chains, wearing nothing but scanty undergarments. She hadn’t paid that much detail at first, for she had assumed that it had been one of the many things Ryoga had done in order to obtain his newest hallucinatory drug. Her blood boils to a fever pitch. Heat flares up her cheeks and she senses her ghost arms forming into fists. If IV ever came near her...she grinds her teeth even more and turns her glass eyes towards her brother’s voice. _I’m going to fucking kill IV,_ she hisses. When the pause is longer than usual, she enunciates her words. _I’m going to fucking kill IV_. This time, there’s a reaction. One sad, pathetic chuckle bubbles up Ryoga’s throat. It almost made Rio sad to hear it. 

“What could you possibly do, sister? You’re a doll, just like the rest of us. Powerless.”

Link to Rio and Ryoga’s image [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qG59JRbedcEvoCtPYE7bfL1D9o6N2tJs/view?usp=drivesdk)


	29. Sand Through Outstretched Fingers

Sand Through Outstretched Fingers

He runs the brush through the queen’s silver locks. As he runs the brush all the way down and out, he's dismayed to see the clump of hair that remains in the brush. They've grown brittle as of late. Her hair had been falling out more than usual, no matter how many hair products he used or how carefully he tended to her hair. The tips of his mouth turn downwards as he imagines her bald. No, no, he couldn't have that. Everyone would be so sad...Noticing the pause, the queen turns around, concern in her expression.

“Thomas, are you alright?” she asks in her silent voice. 

Her eyes were so clear and blue. He just wanted to get lost in those depths and never come out. They were always so calm and reassuring, something he could look at for hours on end. No set of glass eyes could even come close to their beauty. Oh, and when they filled with tears, how radiant they were…! Although it pained him to see her cry, it was such a beautiful sight that he could not help but watch. When he realizes that he's holding her gaze for longer than usual, he bashfully shakes his head and turns back to the hairbrush, picking out the silver hairs.

“I'm fine, your majesty,” he replies with a false air of cheerfulness.

Her expression is still clouded in concern. Nonetheless, she turns away and allows Thomas to style the rest of her hair. He has a difficult time, sculpting the hair into the usual desired shape. It tore or fell away into his hands, useless. Pursing his lips, Thomas grabs the curling iron. Today would be a bit more simpler than usual. It couldn’t be helped.

“My hair is falling out, isn’t it?” asks the queen’s reflection. A long sigh follows, her elegant shoulders dropping. “It’s what happens when the body doesn’t have enough nutrients.”

“But I  _ have  _ been feeding you,” protests Thomas, tossing away yet another clump of silver hair. 

“Not enough, it seems,” says the queen. Her eyes have an accusing look to them. 

Thomas shakes his head. Gently, he wraps his hands around the queen's thin waist, his fingers touching at her navel and his thumbs able to touch in the back. The queen winces as she looks down at her chest and waist, made even more narrow by the stays. 

“You couldn’t eat that much even if you wanted to,” murmurs Thomas. 

She frowns, her serene mask cracking.  _ Let us go, Thomas. I’m your bloody brother, not a doll,  _ hisses Christopher voicelessly _ .  _ Hesitantly, Thomas looks into the mirror and winces. His brother’s reflection glares at him, deep blue eyes narrowed and lips bent into a frown. Christopher is absolutely furious. Thomas could tell that his brother’s patience had become extremely thin, almost on the verge of exploding into a screaming fit. He could almost imagine him crossing his arms, his mouth pulled into a thin line. Perhaps he would even knock a few things over. 

But he doesn't. He merely continues to glare at Thomas for an interminable amount of time until Thomas gingerly brushes away a lock of hair away from his forehead. Then, Thomas places his lips on Christopher's heated cheek. A kiss to make up for all the terrible things he had done these past few months. But that would be all Christopher would get. Unexpectedly, tears fill his brother's eyes and slide down his cheeks as Thomas pulls away. For the next few minutes, the room is filled with the sounds of crying. 


	30. Grudge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s late and I almost named this chapter Learn Not to Burn

Grudge

“Do you still dream of the fire…?” whispers Thomas as he runs the brush down Rio’s hair. 

She turns towards his voice, her eyes closed and her painted lips unmoving. The sunlight shines on her face. Out of all his dolls, she’s the one that he finds most unsettling. After the first few weeks of trying to bite him and letting out terrifying voiceless screams, she had become silent. One of the few things she does now is turn her head towards sound and angle her head towards the heat of the sun. Perhaps she liked the feel of warmth against her skin in her world of darkness. But her new eyes were just as pretty. If only she opened her eyes more, though. 

“I do,” continues Thomas. 

Rio has turned away from him. Thomas has considered renaming her, but he couldn’t bring himself to. She played an important part in his life and it was a part he could not erase. It would be disrespectful towards her. He puts down the brush and begins to braid Rio’s hair, taking care not to pull too hard on the blue strands. This was one of his favorite parts whenever he took care of his dolls. Their hair was so much smoother than the other dolls’. He loved playing with the queen’s, especially. Something that he had once been forbidden to do now was something he could do everyday. The freedom was exhilarating. 

“I didn’t know that the card would have set the building on fire,” murmurs Thomas. 

Because of that, he had personally paid for Rio’s long stay in the hospital. Perhaps Ryoga had known, but he had said nothing of it. 

“But I deserve these nightmares, anyways,” finishes Thomas after a long pause.

Yet there is still no change to Rio’s expression. He finishes styling Rio’s hair and with a bit of difficulty, stands her up. Sometimes, he asks if the limbs are too heavy for her, but she never says anything. Smoothing down her dress, he brings her to her usual place, in front of the window with the veiled curtains. He doesn’t want her skin to burn, but knows that she needed some sort of stimulation to her senses. The warmth of the sun served that purpose. 

He takes one of the iron cables and attaches it to one of the limbs’ hooks. He follows suit with the other limbs and then poses Rio into a dancing pose. Her right arm is raised above her head, the hand aimed at the sky. The other arm is straight behind her, pointing at the floor. Her legs are in midstep, as if she was about to leap from one place to the other. Taking a step back, he admires his work and sighs contentedly. His lovely marionette. 

“I’ll see you at lunch,” says Thomas as he closes the door behind him.

What he doesn’t notice is the grimace that has appeared on Rio’s face. 


	31. Hero

Hero

_ The 10th missed call over the last 4 months _ . This wasn't like his mentor. Kaito's left a voicemail after almost every call and none had been checked. Perhaps Chris had also gone missing, just like the Kamishiro twins. Yuma suspected that it had been Don Thousand who took them away, which was a wild theory in itself. They had seen the temporary defeat of the chaos deity himself. With a defeat at that level, he wouldn't be able to return for centuries. Perhaps it had been gang members who took Ryoga. His body could be ground to mush by now and no one would have known. But Rio? No, she was a capable girl. Even more so than her brother. Kaito had sensed the quiet power and respect she had commanded during his journeys with Yuma. If it had been a rival gang, she would have escaped by now. 

The police had searched for the twins for weeks on end, with no results whatsoever. Their prime suspect, IV, was revealed to be innocent with confirmed alibis from his fans. Currently, they were investigating suspected gang members but Kaito doubted they would find anything. He had attempted to question IV before, but the press had flooded the doors of the Arclight manor. According to Yuma, the youngest Arclight had been absent for months from university. But IV had brushed suspicions off by saying that his brother was bedridden and unable to speak. Which left the public with one other question: What had become of V? _ Researching in the Arctic _ had been IV's excuse. Kaito doubted that. He had checked for any recent changes to the energy consumption levels in the lab, but levels remained low. Perhaps Chris was also severely ill. It wouldn't hurt to check, would it? 

Taking out a piece of paper, Kaito writes a quick note and then leaves.

_ I'm heading off to the Arclight Mansion. If I don't come back by tomorrow, call the authorities. _

He’d have gladly taken Orbital as his mode of transportation, but his robot was off at the Tsukumos, celebrating his “wedding” anniversary. What ever made him program such ridiculous AI into that robot had him up on late nights. Just what had his thirteen-year old self been thinking? Was he secretly wishing to fall in love too? The thought irritates him and he walks through the streets in a hurry. He knows the way to the Arclight mansion as clear as day. Often, Chris had invited him over for tea and scientific discussions. 

Of course, walking to it was a different matter. It had been so easy, flying through the skies on Orbital. Now at street level, the bustling avenues seemed so convoluted. He knows he’s attracted a few stares already. The son of the city’s founder, out in the middle of daylight. Soon, he would be swarmed. Public transportation? He looks at the bus station and trudges towards it. As much as he despises the idea of it, he supposes he must. By now, he should have purchased a car, but with Orbital, the purpose of a car was defeated. Who needed to endure traffic when they could fly above it? 

He stands at the bus station, knowing that the cameras are aimed at him. Imagining the headlines in the gossip magazines makes him grimace. Just what was so special about him anyways? He was a person, just like them. His feet begins to tap impatiently and he checks his watch. Then he turns to the bus schedule. It should be here any time now. In the distance, he sees the vehicle and then the crowd gathering around him. If there was only something to cover his face…

“Excuse me, will you sign this for me?” asks a young girl. 

_ Here we go. Sign one. Sign all of them,  _ thinks Kaito as he makes eye contact with the girl. Her large eyes reminds him of Haruto and her bright smile is filled with hope. How could he say no to that? If Haruto was here, he’d have already grabbed the paper and ran up to him with it. Pasting a smile on his face, Kaito takes the girl’s photograph of him and briskly signs it. The girl’s eyes fill with light when she receives it and she carefully tucks it away, just as the bus pulls up. 

“Thank you,  _ Tenjo-sama!  _ When I grow up, I want to be just as powerful as you!” says the girl as she runs away. 

Immediately, another person fills her place. Kaito looks to the bus, its doors opening. The crowd was still in the way. He struggles to fight the crowd, trying his best not to hurt anyone. How to get their attention focused somewhere else…? As he pushes away a few hands and cameras, he comes up with an idea. Pointing in the distance, Kaito raises his voice. 

“Everyone! It’s the Kamishiro twins!” 

He inwardly feels a twinge of guilt for using his missing friend’s name to his advantage, but he promises himself that he  _ will  _ find Ryoga and Rio. Immediately, the crowd’s attention shifts and murmurs fill the crowd. Taking advantage of the pause, Kaito dashes onto the bus and finds a seat, much to the driver’s surprise. Scanning the bus, he sees a group of young boys and girls and inwardly groans. They’ve already seen him and were slowly trying to get closer to him, just as the doors closed. 

“Stay in your seats. You wouldn’t want me to tell my father, would you?” asks Kaito the children as the bus begins to get into motion. 

As much as he hates using his father’s influence, it’s the first thing he can think of in repelling away a crowd. Immediately, they sit down, grumbling. Asides from the group of children, there is a sleeping man, a woman trying to comfort a crying child and an elderly couple. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kaito slumps into his seat. Out of all the days that he didn’t have Orbital...He passes most of the ride in silence, watching as his father’s city passes by. Where was Ryoga now? Rotting in the Arclight mansion’s basement? But what would he have to do with them? He sighs, trying to piece together the disappearances. They didn’t make sense. Chris. III. The twins. They had all known IV. But there had been no enmity between them. 

If IV was telling the truth and III was truly sick, then what was the truth behind his mentor? If he wasn’t at the lab, then where was he? He shakes his head in frustration and stares out the window again. The afternoon sun shone against the bright buildings, turning the cityscape into a dizzying kaleidoscope. He had never really enjoyed Heartland. Beneath its glimmering, fairytale-like buildings was an underworld of hellish deceit and plotting. Back in the countryside, things were as they seemed. There were no lies in the trees, air or soil. They were what they were and did not fear showing the truth. Things had been so simple back then…

When he arrives at his stop, he gets off and promises the driver that the city would pay for him. Once the bus drives off, he proceeds to make his way through the sidewalks and sprawling houses on the outskirts of Heartland. He was in the nicest part of the city, where the upper-crust of Heartland resided. Far enough to avoid the hustle and bustle of the common folk but not far enough as to be uninformed about the top trends in Heartland. Some houses were well kept. Others less so. When he sees the Arclight mansion, he notes that the flowers in the front have become overgrown. They were drooping from their own weight of petals, providing a pitiful sight. The fountain at the front was also collecting a bit of algae. Pulling the gate away, there’s a slight creak. 

He rings the doorbell, its deep tones echoing through the house. There is a pause as the bolts and locks are removed. And then he's met by IV’s dazzling smile.

“Good afternoon, Mister Tenjo. To what do I owe you this visit?” greets Thomas politely.

“Where’s Chris?”

Kaito doesn't have time for niceties or any of IV’s antics. He knows of the cunning mind behind that smile, so much like Mr. Heartland's. A flicker of IV’s expression stirs the suspicion in Kaito’s heart.

“He's out in the Arctic, conducting research,” replies IV evenly.

“That's a lie,” retorts Kaito. “The activity levels and energy consumption at that lab have been near zero.” 

A grimace quickly fills IV’s face but is soon replaced by his customary smile. He invites Kaito inside with a sweep of his hand. Hesitantly, Kaito steps into the grand hall way. He's led through the elegant rooms, filled with antique furniture that contrast with the modern family photographs. When they walk past the grand staircase he can't help but look up at its shadowy depths. Arriving in the living room, IV invites Kaito to sit down and heads into the kitchen. The sound of a lock clicking follows. 

Immediately, Kaito rises and tries to open the door. It holds fast as expected. He runs to the other door and is dismayed to find the same reaction.  _ Connected locks _ , he thinks in frustration. He knows he needs to run up those stairs. Something told him that the truth would be up there, no matter what IV had said. He knows better than to trust him. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he feels the lockpick prick the tip of his finger. Quickly grabbing the lockpick, he carefully picks the lock and opens the door. Running down the halls, he begins to panic when the stairs are nowhere in sight. They were so large, how could he have lost them? He opens up a few doors, praying that none of them belong to the kitchen, where IV had the upper hand with the abundance of sharp weapons. Yet all he sees our rooms full of books, chairs, tables and artwork. He tries to recall his steps, walking through the halls. The third door to the left? The right?  _ Ah. There it was _ .

He runs through the coral colored room, through its other door and into another hallway. Sprawling down the is the Arclight’s elegant staircase, its steps worn with age. Walking up with determined steps, he hears IV’s distant voice. He picks up his pace and emerges in another hallway. Looking left and right, he grew nervous. Just where would his mentor’s room be in this vast maze? IV’s voice calls again and his heart begins to beat faster. He runs to the end of the hall on light feet.  _ Here goes nothing _ . The first door reveals a small room, most likely used for extra storage.

The next room is an organized bedroom that appears to have been untouched for months. Shelves of research materials fill the walls, a layer of dust covering their tops. At first, he thought it had been Chris's until he saw the photographs. A man and woman in wedding finery, laughing. The woman wore large glasses and had pink and brown curls. The man wore a monocle and his long blond hair was braided.  _ Byron _ , he notes in his mind. In the corner was a photo of Byron with what seemed to be his own father. Their smiles were bright, both in their prime. Like his son, the previous Arclight had a gentle face that seemed used to smiling.  _ No longer was that the reality,  _ thinks Kaito as he remembers Tron's disfigured face. A shiver runs up his spine as he recalls staring into the eyeless abyss. 

Kaito gently closes the door and moves into the room across.

“Kaito?” calls Thomas's voice from the bottom of the stairs.

His heart pounds faster in his chest. He looks into the bedroom filled with historical artifacts and immediately knows that it's III’s. Bits of dust floated around in the sunbeams, making the room seem like an abandoned museum’s storage room. No one occupied the bed. The sheets are neatly folded, the curtain at the back of the bed shading it from the sun. Looking further through the room, he realizes that no one had been in here for a while. Something must have happened to III.

“Are you up here?” asks IV’s voice at the top of the stairs.

His heart skips a beat. Yet his mind continues to wonder. Where was III if he was truly bedridden? He probably wasn't, but...peeking out the door, Kaito sees Thomas heading down the opposite side of the hall. Waiting a few more seconds, Kaito slides out of Michael's room and silently closes the door. Discreetly opening the next door, he creeps in and shuts the door behind him just in time. 

IV’s voice fills the hall again, growing less cheerful this time.

“My brother isn't here. Come down and I'll tell you the truth, like I promised.”

_ As if he would trust the person that enjoyed torturing his baby brother.  _

Kaito turns to face the room he's entered. Dozens of faces look at him, their glass eyes soulless and unfeeling.  _ Dolls _ . Posters of IV cover one side of the wall.  _ How egotistic _ , he thinks as he makes his way through the room. A curtained bed sits at the back of the room, its covers drawn. No, he wouldn’t find the missing Arclight brothers here. But just to check, he pulls the curtains back from the bed. A doll resembling Michael lies there, its eyes closed.  _ Well, IV had some strange hobbies _ . But really, it was none of his business what strange things IV did in his spare time. He looks at the doll’s long lashes, almost touching its pink cheeks. Its skin is smooth and its limbs are elegantly crafted. Even so, it appears eerily realistic and distaste fills Kaito’s face. It must have cost a fortune. With that kind of money he could have built a new robot that was ten times more useful than this creepy doll.

Scoffing, Kaito pulls the curtains closed. He doesn't see the doll’s green eyes open in the wake of the ruckus he had made.

“Kaito!” calls IV, his voice now devoid of all cheerfulness. “Stop going around places no one wants you in!”

The voice is closer now. Kaito leans his ear towards the door. He hears the footsteps approaching.

“First he takes Chris...Now he thinks he can take them all away..,” mutters Thomas as he passes by his own room.

Kaito stiffens at that remark. He hears the door to Michael's room open and the sound of Thomas entering. Quickly, he slips out of Thomas's room and into the next. His mentor’s familiar cologne fills his senses, although it's fainter than he remembers. He closes the door behind him and enters Christopher's room on light feet. Perhaps Chris  _ was _ off researching. Much like III’s room, the sheets looked as if they hadn't been used in a long time. On Christopher's desk is a thin layer of dust. He looks at the telescope in front of Christopher's window and imagines his mentor using it. He recalls a memory during their days together when they did such thing. The stars had been shimmering that day, for Heartland was suffering a power outage at its center. Someone (his younger self) had hacked the power grid, keeping only the hospitals and his brother's life support systems on. In retrospect, it was an incredibly selfish thing to do, but Chris’s smile had been worth it.

Never before had he seen his mentor smile like that. Before, his mentor had always seemed a bit melancholic to him, with his long face and pale features. His smiles were often tinged with a bit of sadness, never reaching his deep blue eyes. But on that night, genuine happiness filled Chris’s features, his eyes brighter than the stars above. Even today Kaito remembers that beautiful smile.

“Kaito! My brother is with my father! They've gone to Astral World to try and repair his body!” IV shouts as he enters the room next door.

Kaito almost believes it. But when he opens up Christopher's closet, it's filled to the brim with his mentor’s clothes. Three suitcases lie in the back of the walk-in closet, all empty. In the corner, he sees his mentors duffle bag and almost has a panic attack. The dark leather was almost obscured in the shadows, but he would be able to recognize that bag anywhere. On bad nights, he still has dreams about that night. Always, the thunder roared. Always, the rain poured. And Christopher had always silently turned his back and left him. Hurriedly, Kaito closes the closet door, his breathing suddenly heavy.

It was funny how such small things brought back such unpleasant memories. He can hear IV stomping out the room he was in. The door slams. Swallowing his panic, Kaito tries to find a place to hide. Looking around, the only place Kaito can see that would sufficiently hide him was under his mentor’s bed. He sees the doorknob turn. Immediately, he runs to the bed and scrambles underneath it. IV’s angry footsteps soon fill the room.

“It'd be fitting if you were in here,” hisses Thomas. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanked yourself off in here, with the way you follow him around…”

The comment brings forth a wave of anger in Kaito’s chest. He's tempted to crawl out from under the bed and punch IV square in the face. But he knows that the purpose of this taunt is to get him out of his hiding spot. He would never win in a physical fight against IV, they both knew that. And god knows what IV would do to him after he was knocked unconscious. Kaito can see IV’s feet turn towards the bed. His body stiffens and he holds his breath.

“I bet you’re small down there,” taunts IV as he kicks at the bed’s base. “You wank off to fantasies of you and him. I know it.” 

Had it not been for Ryoga’s irritating barbs, Kaito would not have been able to remain silent. Silently, he thanks Ryoga and once again makes a promise that he would find him. By the time IV leaves, he’s quaking with anger. Pushing himself out from Christopher’s bed, he makes his way out of his room after a few moments pass. Entering the next room, he finds a large bathtub and shower. On the counter of the sink are bloody bandages. He examines them carefully, yet finds no telling details. Whose blood was this? Perhaps III was truly sick, injured even. But why wasn’t he at a hospital? A science experiment gone wrong? Shaking his head, Kaito exits the bathroom and checks the rooms in the opposite hall. 

IV is nowhere in sight. Slowly Kaito opens up the room next to Byron's. The stale smell of a woman's perfume fills the room. Layers and layers of dust, even thicker than Christopher's and Michael's rooms’, fill the area. It takes all of his self-control to not sneeze.

“You won't find anything here!” shouts IV from the end of the hall. So. He had come back to the other side of the halls.

_ There must have been something of importance there,  _ thinks Kaito as he leans leans against the wall.  _ But how would I be able to come over there without being detected?  _ Swallowing, he knows he will eventually have to run and take the risk. There was no other timely choice. When Kaito hears The tell tale sound of a door closing and a new one opening, he exits the dusty room and runs over to the other side of the hall. He opens the door to the last room on the right and slides in, just when he hears IV.

“I heard you, you bastard!” snaps IV. “You can’t hide for long!”

Kaito hears the door across from him open. Swallowing hard, he looks at the room he has just entered. In this room, there's nothing but mirrors and mannequins draped with elegant dresses. Vanities line one side of the wall. The mannequins stand besides them.  _ There was nowhere to hide in this room.  _ Cursing under his breath, Kaito hears the door behind him open. He whirls around, eyes narrowed. He's ready to fight, even if he's going to lose.

Thomas greets him with a matching expression, one hand behind his back.

“You're too old to be playing hide and seek,” he growls. “Maybe you should find yourself some new hobbies besides sneaking into people’s houses and hiding from them.”

“Where are your brothers?” asks Kaito as he looks for a weapon.

“It's none of your business,” replies IV tersely.

He takes a step towards Kaito. As if on cue, his mentor’s teachings fill his mind and Kaito straightens his posture.  _ Don’t ever step back. That would show your opponent that you are hesitant,  _ declares Christopher’s voice in his mind. Kaito balls his hands into fists and bends his knees. 

“I'm calling the authorities. You do anything to me and I've instructed them to come the very next morning,” threatens Kaito. “I won't go missing without any consequences.”

Without warning, Thomas lunges towards Kaito. Instincts snapping into action, Kaito swerves away. He sees the cloth in IV’s hand and doesn't need to guess to know what does. IV turns around, his hand grabbing Kaito’s wrist. His other hand deals a blow to his stomach. Hissing in pain, Kaito tries to break free with his other hand. He twists his wrist and undoes IV’s grip on him. Now free, he takes a step back and aims a punch at IV. It lands on his shoulder and IV grimaces. Backing up, Kaito prepares another punch. Before he can deliver it, IV raises his leg and kicks Kaito in the stomach. The air knocked out of him, Kaito falls to the ground in pain. He hears the blood pounding in his ears and Christopher’s voice shouting at him to stand up. 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he stands up on shaking legs and rushes towards IV. Swiftly avoiding him, IV sticks his leg out and deftly trips Kaito over. Roughly, he grabs the top of Kaito’s hair and wrenches his head towards him. 

“You're a murderer!” hisses Kaito as the cloth goes near his face.

“Nonsense,” murmurs IV as he tilts Kaito's head towards him. “I'm an artist.”

The cloth presses against his mouth and nose. Before long, Kaito’s eyes roll to the back of his head and darkness envelopes his mind. When he feels Kaito’s body relax, Thomas lets his head go and lets out a sigh. How would he be able to explain this to the others?


	32. Once Again

Once Again

The sound of sirens fill the air. Fighting through the cloud of grogginess that clung to his brain, Kaito opens his eyes. He sees the ropes binding his arms and legs to a chair and grimaces. Letting out a string of curses, Kaito struggles against his bonds. Looking at his surroundings, he sees shelves upon shelves of dolls. They seemed to mock him, with their empty smiles and blank stares. But they wouldn’t be able to mock him soon. At any moment, the authorities would knock down the heavy door and end this madness. From here, it seemed as if the sirens’ cries had grown louder in the past few seconds. 

“Call the authorities off,” calls a voice from behind him.

Turning around, he sees IV calmly sitting next to a doll, a gun aimed at the doll’s temple. 

“As if,” sneers Kaito. 

The gun in IV’s hand glimmers and he presses it closer to the doll. 

“Look closer,” commands IV. 

Kaito looks at the doll and his determined expression turns to that of shock. _ It couldn’t be. _ The doll’s eyes are wide in fear, the same color as Chris’s. But it couldn’t be alive. It was a doll. _ The same colored bangs. The same thin neck. _ Even through all of the makeup, he could make out the features of his mentor. He swallows hard. This didn’t make sense. Just what was happening? Why was the doll’s lips moving? What was it trying to say? Was this a hyper-realistic android? A small voice in his mind wonders about the manufacturer and how they were able to achieve such realistic results. If this was an android, it must have cost a fortune. He looks at the doll for a few more moments, slowly allowing his mind to process what it was trying to say to him.

_ Kaito. Please. Kaito. _When he is able to make out the words mouthed at him, he stiffens. He turns to IV with a sickened expression. This couldn’t be some android. It was too...too much like Chris to be an android. Kaito swallows hard.

“Wh...What the hell did you do to him…?” he hisses, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Thomas wrenches Christopher’s gaze away from Kaito and towards himself. With a possessive hand, he strokes Christopher’s face. Pain fills his mentor’s features. 

“I made it so that he can’t run away from me anymore,” he replies simply. 

A few more words are mouthed from Christopher’s lips. Irritation fills Thomas’s face. Roughly, he shoves the barrel of the gun in Christopher’s mouth. Kaito lets out an exclamation of anger and further struggles against his bonds. Tears fill Christopher’s eyes and he looks at Kaito with pleading eyes. 

“You’re going to go down there and tell them that there is nothing wrong in this house, that you’re going to stay here to attend to your mentor, who just returned from the Arctic and has fallen severely ill. Do you understand?” growls Thomas. “And, when I let you go from these restraints, I want you to know that if you try anything, your beloved Chris is the first to go. Then come the twins.”

_ The twins? _So he really did have Rio and Ryoga. He braces himself as Thomas approaches, dragging Christopher behind him. Kaito’s tempted to give IV a punch, but he knows that would do more harm than good. As his bonds are undone, he looks around in hopes of encountering the twins. Were they also like Chris? Before he can find them, he is led out of the room and down the hall. The barrel of the gun is shoved against his back, the metal still wet from being inside Christopher’s mouth. In Thomas’s other hand is a handful of Christopher’s hair, used to drag him across the floor. 

Anger boils in Kaito’s chest as they make their descent down the stairs. His mentor, treated like some abused toy. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Thomas pushes Kaito towards the door with the gun. Giving Thomas a glare, Kaito makes his way towards the door and unlocks it. Walking over to the nearby wall, Thomas resumes aiming the gun at Christopher’s temple. 

“Remember. Say anything out of the ordinary and you can say goodbye to Chris,” warns IV as Kaito opens the door. 

The head of police’s back is turned towards him, shouting instructions to the units that have surrounded the Arclight mansion. Clearing his throat, Kaito composes his expression and stands taller. After he’s done shouting orders, the head of police turns around and starts. 

“Tenjo-_ sama! _You didn’t call!” exclaims the graying man. 

“I...forgot. But as you can see, I’m fine. I’ll just be gone for an indeterminate amount of time,” says Kaito without a trace of emotion. 

He’s highly aware of the gun aimed at Christopher’s temple in the room next to him. His mentor’s face was filled with fear and pain. Much like his beautiful smile from happier times, this too would also be a face he would remember. 

“For what reason?” grumbles the head of police as he looks at his watch. 

From his physique, this man was more used to an office chair then field work. His mustache twitches in irritation at Kaito’s reply. Kaito knows that type better than he likes. All high up, lost all connection to the real world, yet still issues commands to the people below them. That man would accept a bribe in a second, letting the gangs run wild in Heartland’s slums. Kaito narrows his eyes.

“It's none of your business. Just tell my father that I'm fine and wish not to be disturbed,” instructs Kaito. _ As if he needed to say that. His father never asked where he was or what he was doing. This was for Haruto _.

The man nods, tipping his hat and muttering something under his breath. It was something that involved today's generation and the wealthy. Kaito allows it to slide, glancing back at Thomas concealed in the shadows.

“Understood, Tenjo-_ sama. _ Have a good day,” grunts the man. “And next time, remember when to call us off.”

He heads towards the police cars with a megaphone, issuing an all-clear. Kaito watches him go with a slight twinge of regret. He closes the door, reluctantly locking it. He looks back at IV, the gun still aimed at Christopher's temple.

“Good job,” murmurs IV as he stands up.

“Will you give me an explanation now?” hisses Kaito as he looks at his poor mentor. 

IV makes a theatrical motion towards the chair in front of him. Frowning, Kaito sits down, eyeing the silver pistol. 

“Where do you want me to begin?” asks IV as he picks Christopher up and rests him on his knee. 

The sight repulses Kaito and he shows his distaste with a grimace. 

“The start,” he mutters.

IV gives Christopher a kiss on the cheek. Kaito looks for a repulsed reaction from his mentor, yet he is only met by an expression of defeat. _ Just how long had this been going on? _

“Our father went off to God-knows-where. We were all so sad, weren’t we…?” asks Thomas as he leans closer to Christopher. 

For once, Thomas will allow his queen to be his brother. But just for this moment. Soon, he’d be back to being just a doll, like all of the others. 

“It started with Michael. He broke mother’s best doll. So I needed to make a replacement.”

Pain fills Christopher’s expression at that mention. He looks at the floor in shame._ He should have known sooner. _

“Then, _ he, _ ” begins Thomas as he tickles Christopher’s chin. A flicker of anger fills Christopher’s face and Kaito’s chest swells with hope. Perhaps his mentor was still fighting this madness. “Came in and thought he could take Rose away from me. I panicked, so I broke Sylvia over his head. And of course, a lady as fine as Sylvia _ had _to be replaced with a work of equal quality, correct?” asks Thomas. 

Afterwords, he places a kiss on Christopher’s neck. Kaito watches the scene in disgust. IV was making as much sense as an inebriated fortune teller. 

“Why can’t he speak or move his arms and legs?” asks Kaito as he looks at Christopher’s elaborate costume. 

“Because..,” whispers IV. “I removed them.” 

His hand slides beneath Christopher’s skirts and pulls up the layers. Legs that stick straight out are revealed, topped by blue slippers with silver buckles. Kaito looks closer at the legs and realizes that they appeared too smooth to be real skin. It was a pale shade, dully shining in the light that filtered through the frosted windows. To add to their unnatural appearance, they did not move at all. Thomas runs his hand down one of the legs, a smile on his face. 

“Do you want to touch this?” IV asks quietly. “You can if you want to.” 

A voice tells Kaito not to. It would be violating his mentor in a way. He looks at Christopher’s expression but can’t read anything in his deep blue eyes. Swallowing, his curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches. With one finger, he strokes one of the legs. It’s cold to the touch and he shivers. _ Porcelain. _He pulls his hand away, the disgust returning. How could IV have done this?

“Why?” whispers Kaito as he takes a seat again. 

Thomas pulls down Christopher’s skirts and rearranges them. 

“Why?” the middle Arclight murmurs as he slides down the neck of Christopher’s dress to reveal the scar on his throat. “There’s many reasons why.” He jabs his fingers onto the scar and Kaito winces. “One, I hated hearing his imperious voice telling me what to do. He wasn’t father. He had no right to speak to me like that. Two, he kept on leaving us. And it was always for you.”

The final sentence is laced with jealousy and Kaito shifts uncomfortably. A smile fills Thomas’s face as he wraps his arm around Christopher’s thin waist. Still, he continues to hold the gun in the other hand. 

“He can’t do that anymore and he’s happier now. He’s my queen,” says Thomas triumphantly. 

Kaito feels sick to his stomach, but he forces himself to hear the entire story. He must get to the truth, no matter what.

“And the twins?” murmurs Kaito. 

The smile on Thomas’s face widens.

“Upstairs. Rio’s my beautiful marionette and Ryoga is such a delight to have in bed.” 

“They’re alive?” asks Kaito, trying to keep the raging anger out of his voice.

“Of course. I take good care of all my dolls.” 

“You’re a sick fuck,” hisses Kaito.

Thomas frowns and he looks at Christopher. 

“You want him, don’t you?” murmurs Thomas to his brother. 

Immediately, horror fills Christopher’s face. _ No. _Is his reply and Kaito reads his lips quickly. His blood has started to pump faster and he braces himself. Forcing himself to stand up, Kaito faces Thomas. Yet nothing but calm fills Thomas’s face as he aims the gun back at Christopher. This time, it’s aimed at his heart. 

“You can’t leave. I can’t have your men barging in and taking my dolls away from me. They wouldn’t know how to take care of them.” 

“They’re people!” shouts Kaito. “Can’t you see that?!” 

“I’d rather not. Sit back down,” commands Thomas. 

When Kaito doesn’t, Thomas clicks his tongue and cocks the gun. Immediately, Kaito sits. 

“Good,” murmurs Thomas. Looking down at Christopher’s fearful expression, Thomas continues. “You’d have him every day with you. That would be nice, right? The both of you can still be friends.” 

_ No. Please. _

Thomas turns back to Kaito. 

“Well he can’t just leave us and tell everyone.”

There’s a tense pause as Thomas turns back to Christopher and looks at his trembling lips. A stream of words are flowing from Christopher’s silent lips, but they were only understandable to Thomas. A contemplative expression fills Thomas’s face. 

“That would be interesting, but I already have an idea.” 

When he looks at Kaito again, a spark has filled his eyes. Kaito leans back against the chair in discomfort. Slowly, Thomas stands up and leaves Christopher to sit on the floor. Absolute terror has filled his mentor’s face. His mouth is repeating a string of words, over and over again. Yet Kaito cannot understand. He’s too focused on staring at Thomas, his presence no longer disturbing but threatening. Without warning, Thomas’s hand darts out and strokes Kaito’s cheek. Immediately, Kaito pulls away in disgust. 

“Fuck off,” he hisses. 

The gun is immediately aimed at Kaito’s stomach. His body is righted and Thomas resumes stroking his cheek. Magenta eyes examine Kaito’s features with an eerie calm. 

“Yes..,” murmurs Thomas. 

Kaito’s eyes dart to his mentor’s still moving mouth. The words he was trying to say were finally made clear to him. _ Run, Kaito. Run. Please. _ Thomas’s grip has tightened around Kaito’s chin and the gun has pressed harder into his stomach. _ Run, Kaito. Run. Please. _

“...Unbendable plastic limbs...swing dresses...pearls..,” muses Thomas under his breath. The sparks in his eyes have ignited into flames. _ Flames of madness _. “A perfect housewife.” 

The string of words causes Kaito’s heart to skip a beat. Him? End up like Chris? Voiceless and paralyzed? And subject to IV’s unpredictable whims? The thought strikes a chord of fear in his heart. He swallows hard and looks into IV’s burning eyes.

“There must be other options,” he breathes. “I...don’t want this. And none of them wanted this to be done to them either. Just...please...see that they’re human. Just like you. Just like me.”

“You’ll learn to love me, just like the others,” reassures Thomas as he plays with Kaito’s bangs. “You have such nice hair. I can’t wait to style it.”

Christopher’s lips are trembling and his eyes are filled with tears. Kaito looks at his expression and then back up at Thomas. 

“Chris doesn’t want this,” he whispers. “So let me go. It’s the least you can do for him.” 

The barrel of the gun presses harder into Kaito’s stomach and he winces. Anger has filled Thomas’s expression. 

“I know him better than you do, so shut up.”

Thomas stands Kaito up, the gun still aimed at him. 

“Come upstairs with me,” commands Thomas. 

Kaito gives Christopher one last look. Pain fills his chest when he sees Christopher’s tears. It would be useless, trying to fight Thomas. He’d just get shot and killed without having done anything to save the victims. Bracing himself, Kaito walks upstairs with Thomas, the cold metal pressed against his back the entire ascent. His heartbeat has accelerated again, a feeling of nausea overcoming him. Scanning the halls for anything he could use as a weapon, Kaito notices the dolls that decorate the shelves. Their eyes seemed to follow him as he was led by Thomas towards a bookshelf. What could he do to stall…? _ Ryoga. _

“Let me see Ryoga,” he breathes. 

Thomas pauses and Kaito turns around. He can’t read IV’s expression, but he has released the gun from Kaito’s back. 

“He’s this way,” murmurs Thomas as he leads Kaito back to the doll room. “You might as well say some things to him. He’ll be happy to know that you’ll be joining him.” 

If he can think fast enough, he won’t have to. Once again, Kaito has resumed looking for weapons. Anything could be a weapon if he was creative enough. That flowerpot over there could be smashed over Thomas’s head. But it was too far away. The photograph’s frame? No, it was too big and IV would notice. Before he can think of anything else, Thomas has opened the door.

“Ryoga! Someone’s here for you,” barks Thomas. 

He hated having to use their real names. Those names should have died a long time ago. Nonetheless, he leads Kaito to Ryoga in the corner of the room. Immediately, Ryoga sees the gun and Kaito’s grim expression. 

“So you tried playing the hero, huh?” asks Ryoga scornfully. 

Kaito gives him a glare. 

“More than what the police did,” retorts Kaito.

Ryoga gives him a look from underneath his heavily made up eyelids.

“And now he’s blowing your brains out?” 

“He’s joining us,” replies Thomas with a hint of joviality. 

Immediately, Ryoga’s irritated look turns to one of shock. His gaze darts to Kaito, the enmity disappearing. 

“You...wanted this?” whispers Ryoga. 

Kaito looks away, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Thomas puts a hand on Kaito’s shoulder and smiles. 

“He’ll learn to like it, just like the rest of you,” he reassures Ryoga. 

“Please just kill him,” begs Ryoga. Desperation has filled his expression, his gaze turning back and forth. “No one deserves this.” 

“Why? With enough work, he could be beautiful,” says Thomas.

Prickles creep up Kaito’s back. Talked about as if he were just an object. When had he also been talked about like that? _ Ah yes. _Mr. Heartland. The same possessive gestures. The same uncomfortable touching. Kaito bites his lip as he remembers. 

“Please. Kill him,” breathes Ryoga. “He doesn’t deserve to suffer. Not like this.” 

“He’s not going to suffer,” says Thomas as he gives Ryoga a kiss on the forehead. “He’ll be happy, just like the rest of you.”

_ Would he? _Kaito looks at Ryoga’s face and notes the dark circles and gaunt cheeks underneath the makeup. But his other option was to die. And he couldn’t do that. He had no plans of dying (again) so soon. Besides, he hadn’t said goodbye to Haruto. 

“At least give him a choice on...this. Because we didn’t. You just forced us into this horrifying nightmare and all of us just want to di—”

Thomas squeezes Ryoga’s mouth shut, his jovial smile wavering. 

“That’s enough, _ Angelica _,” warns Thomas. He turns back to Kaito, aiming the gun at Kaito’s forehead. “Now, where were we?”


	33. Trapped

Trapped

The next thing Kaito knows, he’s restrained against a metal table with leather straps, just like in a horror movie. His muscles feel weak as he struggles against the bonds. When he attempts to clench his fists, they immediately unfold again. No matter how hard he attempts to strengthen his muscles, it feels as if they’ve dissolved into jelly. Thomas looks down at him in amusement and sets down the empty syringe. 

“The muscle relaxants are working well, I see,” chuckles Thomas.

Kaito thinks back to the previous victims and how they must have also been here. They must have been scared. Someone they once trusted had turned against them, bent on making them his next toy. What kind of things drove a man to such levels of madness?  _ It’s so cold.  _ His bare skin touches the unforgiving metal, like dipping into a cold pool. He moves his fingers a few more times and swallows hard. The thought of never having them again scares him. Perhaps he would be able to build himself prosthetics when the time came, but they would never feel real as his own flesh and bone. And walking...and running...the thought of also losing his legs makes him angry. 

“You have no right to be doing this,” mutters Kaito. 

His eyes are growing heavy but he fights the approaching darkness with desperation. He loves his hands. They had built Orbital and cared for Haruto. They had protected the people he loved countless times. He had touched Christopher with those hands and brought a smile to his mentor’s face. He loves his legs. Although he was considered short by some, his legs carried him places and held him upright. With those legs, he had scaled mountains and walked the surface of the moon. With those legs, he had jumped and soared through the world (with the help of Orbital). In this moment, he realizes that he could have done so much more. But it was too late. 

“Please just let me go. I still have so much more to do,” pleads Kaito.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you came here,” says Thomas as he uncaps a marker. 


	34. Mutilated

Mutilated

His throat is dry and his body aches. Groggily, Kaito opens his eyes. The darkness of the workshop is calming to him until he sees the eyeless faces and lone body parts.  _ Oh gods.  _ He looks down at his own body and falls into an abyss of loss. Just a torso. His beloved arms and legs are nowhere to be seen. Yet he could still distantly feel them. A leather strap restrains his torso to the operating table and he looks around. Thomas is nowhere in sight. The IV drip inserted in his neck shifts against him and he grimaces. If he ever got out of here, he’d kill him alongside all the others. 

Although he mourns the loss of his limbs, the main emotion he feels is anger. 


	35. Dreams

Dreams

He doesn’t know how long he’s spent in the workshop, but he has spent most of it catching up on much needed sleep. It was better than feeling impotent rage and being tied to a table. At least in the world of dreams he could still freely move. Occasionally, IV would come in and feed him. At other times, he would come and take care of Kaito’s other necessities, such as bathing him. But the most jarring part of this experience was not IV, but himself. Left alone, his mind would always wander to dark places. That was another reason why he slept. To get away from himself. 

Seldom does he remember his dreams and the ones he does remember are the ones on the moon. Those rarely occur anymore, though. The scars from that battle had mainly healed. It was the scars with his father that didn’t heal. Their relationship had taken a turn for the better, that was true, but it was never able to return to before the kidnapping of Haruto. Sometimes, it felt as if a weak bandage was pasted on the gaping wound that they had inflicted on each other. It would never heal at this rate, unless they became honest—brutally honest—with each other. But his father tended to avoid him and always seemed busy working on this and that. Perhaps it was better for his father that way. If Kaito had confronted him with all of his pent up grudges and anger, he doesn’t know if his father would be able to withstand the onslaught. 

When IV was in a talkative mood, he’d tell Kaito about how excited his new “family” would be to see him. Even the marionette (Rio) seemed excited. With further questioning, IV had revealed that he had gouged her eyes out and replaced them with “prettier” glass ones. Mute, paralyzed and blind. That must have been absolutely terrifying. From what he gathered, she had put up a pretty good fight against IV, unlike her brother. Kaito wasn’t that surprised. Whether he admitted it or not, Ryoga trusted IV too much. 

Often, IV had insisted Kaito call him Thomas or master. Kaito liked neither and stubbornly stayed with IV. It kept the relationship distant. Instead of anger, IV had treated his orneriness with amusement. With the first refusal, he had even chuckled and patted Kaito on the shoulder. _You’ll learn eventually_, he had said. But it’s the talks about what IV plans to do with him that disturbs Kaito the most. He tries to tune those conversations out and think about other things. Even thoughts about his father were better than imagining IV dressing, feeding and playing with him. Sometimes, he even tries to change the subject, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. 

The one thing IV had allowed him to keep, supposedly out of respect for Christopher’s wishes. If only he had granted Christopher’s other wish to let him go. Often, IV had sat by him and stroked his hair, complimenting this feature and that. One day it was his long eyelashes. The other day it was the softness of his hair. Today was his voice. How soft it was and how he found it interesting that he used such a soft voice to say such cutting things. The final comment he made to Kaito brought chills down his spine. _I wonder how you’ll sound during play time. _What was that supposed to mean? Feeling the draft of the workshop, he shivers and closes his eyes. Whatever that meant, he hoped it wouldn’t result in his death. 

He feels himself falling asleep and embraces the sensation with a sigh. Perhaps he would wake up to Haruto and Orbital 7, as if he had fallen asleep under the sun after reading a good book. Maybe this was just a nightmare. When he wakes up, he’ll be sure to embrace Haruto with both arms and take a long run by the riverside. How he missed feeling his brother’s hugs and cheerful laughter. When he hugs Haruto, he won’t let go until Haruto complains that he can’t breathe. He’d be so happy to see Haruto again, after waking from a nightmare. And then they’ll both laugh at him for behaving so weirdly. After all, it was just a bad dream. 

_Maybe the others had thought that too. That this was just a bad dream._ The thought jolts Kaito awake. Once again he feels the restraint against his torso and the coldness of the metal table. He feels the urge to scream. This was reality. A reality he couldn’t control and could only agree to be dragged along by its tumultuous currents. _A prisoner._ A gaping hole of powerlessness fills him and it takes all of his self control to not scream. No one would have heard him anyways, except for IV. And what good would that do him? He had heard stories from Christopher about IV’s at-times explosive anger. 

_My brother desires the affection of others. Honestly, he’s such a child sometimes_, his mentor had said about IV after a fight. _Nonetheless, he has a good heart. _What good heart? Mutilating, imprisoning and controlling the lives of his friends and family did not show that IV had a “good heart.” Kaito bites his lip as he thinks back to the possessive way IV held Chris. It disgusted him, the sight of IV enjoying his brother’s pain. He would never end up like that, defeated and submissive to IV’s advances. With the voice he was allowed to keep, he would snap and curse at IV. 

When he thinks back to Chris’s defeated expression, his lip curls. Where did his strong mentor go? The one that taught him to stand up and fight until his death. What he saw on that day was not a fighter but someone who was halfway to the grave. Those beautiful blue eyes brimmed with dark circles. Sallow cheeks. That empty expression. It was as if the Chris in the lab coat and the Chris with the revolver to his head were two different people. What did IV do to him that reduced him to such a state? The mutilation would have only angered Chris. He would have showed his anger clearly to his brother. So then why did he seem so accepting of his position as IV’s doll? 

His friend’s expression continues to haunt him, even when he closes his eyes and tries to sleep once more. 


	36. Into the Uncanny Valley

Into the Uncanny Valley

“Are you ready for today?” asks IV as he enters the room. 

Waking from another dreamless sleep, Kaito turns to where IV’s voice is. He glares when he sees him. 

“Don’t be sad. You can see your beloved Chris again!” says IV as he rolls a cart covered by a white sheet towards Kaito. 

With a flourish, IV throws off the sheet to reveal a pair of arms and legs. Kaito’s glare changes to that of fear when he sees the smooth plastic. The arms are bent at an angle, much like the dolls that young children played with. He vaguely remembers when his mother had purchased him one, hoping that he would learn how to care for things with it. In the end, he had discreetly placed the doll in the attic. Its unbendable limbs and permanent smile disgusted him. The legs stuck out whenever it was sat down instead of bending like a real human’s. Along with that, its arms only looked natural when placed at its hips. In other positions, it seemed like the doll was in midmotion. When he pointed the fact out to his mother, she had laughed and ruffled his hair. Then she had revealed that he would soon have a brother to learn to take care of. 

Faced with a life sized version of the unbendable plastic limbs, a wave of disgust fills Kaito’s chest. Those? On him? He can’t hold back his displeasure this time and it shows on his face in a clear grimace. IV’s prideful smile immediately saddens. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he rolls the cart closer to the table. 

“They’re disgusting,” mutters Kaito. 

Hurt fills IV’s expression and he turns to look at the limbs. 

“I spent hours working on them..,” he murmurs dejectedly. 

“They’re not anatomically correct,” snaps Kaito. “I would look horrifying.”

The hurt deepens and IV strokes an arm lovingly. 

“I think you’d look lovely,” he says. “Chris doesn’t have any joints and he’s really pretty, don’t you think?”

“He looks fucking sick,” hisses Kaito. 

IV’s slap comes unexpectedly and Kaito lets out a gasp. He looks back at IV with a searing glare. His lip curls as IV looks down at him in anger. 

“I love my dolls and keep them in the best conditions..,” breathes Thomas as he prepares a sedative. “You’ll see.” 

“I’d rather die than end up like that.”

Now that he’s seen those rigid limbs, he’s quite sure of this. What other nightmares would IV force him through afterwards, anyways? If he had broken Chris, then what would he do to him? He’d either die today or later, after suffering various horrors. As the syringe nears his neck, Kaito backs away and meets IV’s magenta eyes. 

“Kill me.” 

“After all the work I did in preparing for you? Nonsense.”

IV’s hand holds Kaito’s head still as he injects the sedative into Kaito’s neck. 

“You’re going to regret this,” warns Kaito as he feels the syringe’s contents empty into him. 

A pitying smile fills IV’s face and lights a spark of anger in Kaito’s heart. 

“How? I’ve done it four times already. The fifth time is going to be no different,” he says as he takes the empty syringe in his hand. “You’re going to love it.”

The words are on the tip on Kaito’s tongue. Fighting the wall of darkness that threatened to overtake him, he opens his mouth. His eyes have closed but he’s still aware of the air passing through his parted lips. He could still say something. With his final strength, he forms his mouth into the start of a sentence. Yet by the time the words have escaped, he hears only an exhale. 


	37. The Uncanny Valley

The Uncanny Valley

_ You are my sunshine. _

_ My only sunshine.  _

_ You make me happy _

_ When skies are grey. _

_ You’ll never know, dear _

_ How much I love you _

_ Please don’t take my sunshine away.  _

A song he used to sing baby Haruto to sleep with. The voice humming the lyrics is familiar. Soft and male. He had a good voice. It wasn’t as good as Kaito’s mother’s, but the singer knew how to carry a tune. Now that he thinks of it, his mother also sang that song to rock him to sleep when he was younger. When did she stop singing that song to him? She was always so good at singing...why did she stop? It must have been when she got sick.  _ Sick.  _

Kaito opens his eyes and starts at his unfamiliar surroundings. The walls are a lavender color and warmth fills his body. Beautiful dresses are displayed on mannequins, each one increasing in complexity than the last. Mirrors line one side of the wall, reflecting the bright sunlight of the beautiful day. Mirrors. In front of him was...him, he supposes. His hair has been straightened out and sculpted into a bob. He didn’t even know that was possible. Looking down at himself, the acrid smell of nail polish fills his nose. Disgust wells up in his chest as the memories return. No. He had been here before. During the chase. This was where Thomas had shoved a chloroform cloth into his face until he had passed out. The start of the nightmare. 

Holding his hand is IV, humming the lullaby. He carefully paints the nails on Kaito’s hand a soft baby pink. Immediately, Kaito tries to pull away. IV’s grip tightens in response and his eyes flash up to Kaito’s. 

“You’re awake,” remarks IV. 

“Where the hell am I?’’ demands Kaito. “What have you done to me?”

Looking closer at his hands, he realizes that they’re the same plastic hands from before. When he sees that the legs have also been attached, the feeling of nausea multiplies. They stick straight out, unable to bend at the knees.  _ Repulsive.  _ With his new clothes, his impeccable hair and inaccurate anatomy, his own reflection was now unrecognizable. A parody of a human being. The dress he wore was tight at the top and flared out at the skirt. It wasn’t meant to be moved in. He hears the blood rush through his ears and the panic flutter into his chest. A doll. That’s what he’s been made into. 

IV sees the realization in Kaito’s face and gives him a smile. He blows on Kaito’s nails and pats his cheek. 

“You’re beautiful,” reassures IV. 

“I hate you,” whispers Kaito. He doesn’t bother to mask the fear in his chest. 

“No, you don’t.”

IV reaches behind him to a cart and shows Kaito the syringe in his hand.  _ Another one.  _ He eyes the syringe warily, creeping back as IV approaches him.

“Is that to kill me?” asks Kaito. “You should have done it sooner.”

He wants to wake up from this nightmare. But he can’t. This was reality. IV merely laughs and kisses Kaito’s forehead. Taking out an alcohol wipe, he wipes down Kaito’s cheeks with gentle hands.

“No, silly. I just want you to smile more. After all, you’re supposed to represent a stereotypical housewife from the American 50’s.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean..?” hisses Kaito as he feels the needle pierce his right cheek.

As he feels the contents empty into his face, he lets in a sharp inhale as he feels his skin stretch and tug. The sharp sting of the needle dulls into nothingness as Thomas pulls away and takes another syringe from the table. He can’t feel the right side of his face anymore, he realizes. In the mirror, the right side of his mouth has been stretched into a lop-sided grimace, his lips forcefully parted, revealing his pearly white teeth on one side. When he tries to close his mouth, his muscles remain rigid. The panic intensifies when IV returns, holding the second syringe.

“Please don’t,” whispers Kaito from the side of his mouth. “I don’t want to look like this.”

“You’re always frowning. I’ve had enough of that. I want you to smile forever,” says IV as he holds Kaito’s head. 

“No, please…!” pleads Kaito as he turns his head away from the needle. “Please…”

“Stop that. You’ll ruin your hair,” chides IV as he turns Kaito’s left cheek back to the needle. 

“Let me go!” shouts Kaito as he struggles. “That’s fucked, forcing me to smile day in and day out..! Don’t you realize that I’m human?!” 

“I’m starting to regret letting you keep your voice,” says IV in a warning tone. “Now behave.” 

Roughly, he repositions Kaito’s head back to the needle, despite his protests. As fast as he can, he inserts the needle into the soft flesh. Kaito’s protests soon devolve into half-formed words as his muscles stiffen. The half-formed words then turned into syllables as Kaito’s lips parted and slowly curved into a smile. Then whimpers. Once all of his teeth were shown in the smile, Thomas nods in satisfaction and returns back to the cart. Kaito’s eyes follow him in fear as he picks up yet another syringe, a smaller one this time. 

“N...nnn..,” mumbles Kaito through his teeth as IV takes his face into his hands and wipes down Kaito’s forehead. 

“Sshh...We’re almost done,” reassures IV as he inserts the needle above Kaito’s right eyebrow. 

“Nnn…!” 

It’s horrifying, IV must admit, seeing how quickly the serum stretches out Kaito’s skin. Kaito’s eyebrow raises by a few inches in a matter of seconds, the skin rippling in protest as Kaito tries to move it back. Once it has stopped, IV gives a satisfactory nod and then takes out the final syringe from the cart. He does the same to Kaito’s other eyebrow and does his best to ignore Kaito’s little noises of protest. After the eyebrows settled into a raised position, Thomas turns Kaito away from the mirror and takes out the cosmetic bag from the top of the vanity. 

Kaito looks at IV with panic in his eyes, yet is ignored. A whimper escapes from the back of his throat as IV begins to work on his face. He doesn’t want to be put on display like this. Chris’s pained expression passes through his mind and Kaito swallows hard. What would he say? How would he react? His heart wrenches at the thought of his mentor seeing him in such a state. As IV runs lipstick across Kaito’s lips, a chill runs down his back when he can’t feel anything. What had IV done to him? An interminable amount of time passes by as IV does his makeup. Closing his eyes as the eyeshadow is applied, Kaito thinks back to the doll his mother had purchased for him. 

It was a plain-looking thing, with blond hair and purple eyes. He remembers the poorly painted on freckles and the glaringly red lips it had. The dress it wore was cheaply tailored and he had lost its shoes after his first day with it. Perhaps it was because it was an unrealistic portrayal of a human being that made him dislike it. Afterwards, his mother had purchased a baby doll for him that he had highly cherished. Taking into account his criticisms of the first one, his mother had sought out the most realistic baby doll she could find. Kaito had loved using that doll to practice for his upcoming brother. Although it wasn’t perfect, at least there had been effort to make it realistic. 

“My goodness, you’re lovely,” praises Thomas as he applies blush on Kaito’s cheeks. 

He looks at Kaito’s face for a few more moments and gently strokes Kaito’s eyelashes. The unwelcome contact causes Kaito to flinch and pull away. A gentle smile fills IV’s face and he places a hand on Kaito’s plastic thigh. 

“I can’t tell you how much I love your eyelashes. I didn’t even need to extend them.”

When Kaito shows no reaction to IV’s compliment, IV lets out a small sigh. 

“I had to sew Chris’s new eyelashes onto his eyelids. It was quite painful. You should be grateful that you have these pretty long ones already.” 

That gets a disgusted reaction out of Kaito. He imagines IV’s rough hands holding Chris down to achieve his goals. The pain his mentor must have felt as a needle threaded through his eyelids…

“I think for your debut, this is perfect,” says IV as he turns the chair around. 

Kaito’s heart skips a beat when he sees his face. His lips are bright red, stretched into a smile that looks more like a pained grimace. The blush on his cheeks are a vibrant pink, matching his eyeshadow. He looks at his eyebrows, frozen in a raised position. He looked surprised, as if the camera flashed without his knowing. Only his eyes could freely move and it frightened him. How long would his face be stuck like this? Imagining himself smiling night and day strikes fear into his heart. Just like the doll he had abandoned. 

If IV grew bored of him, who knows what he would do? Before he can think about anything else, IV gives him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Your new name will be Mrs. Arclight.” 

The name immediately disgusts Kaito. 

Illustration by Aerial-Artistic [here](https://aerialartistic.tumblr.com/post/187160072517/welcome-back-to-hell-on-todays-menu-we-have-the)!

Fair warning, there is lots of blood and minor teeth horror. 


	38. Pictures

Pictures

_ I’m not a doll. I’m not a doll.  _ Kaito repeats that phrase over and over again in his mind as Thomas photographs him. He can’t feel the tray in his hands, decorated with a faux turkey. Nor can he feel his face. How long has he been smiling? He swallows hard as Thomas takes another photograph.  _ I’m not a doll.  _

A whimper involuntarily escapes from his throat. Immediately, Thomas answers with a frown. 

“Be happy. You’re a beautiful housewife. What more could you ask for?”

_ Lots of things.  _ A tear beads in Kaito’s eye, overflows and slides down his cheek. Yet his mouth is still frozen into a demented smile. Resting the camera down, Thomas walks over to Kaito and wipes the stray tear away. His body shudders with a suppressed sob. Gently, Thomas brushes his lips against Kaito’s forehead. 

“Nnn..,” mumbles Kaito through his teeth. 

“I know it’s hard but you’ll learn to love me. Just like the others.”

The camera is picked up again and Thomas takes another picture. 

“Since you’re Mrs. Arclight, we should have a wedding, shouldn’t we?” 

“N..no..,” says Kaito in a hoarse whisper. 

It takes all of his effort to speak through his paralyzed mouth, but the abhorrent suggestion needed a reaction from him. Thomas sighs and takes a seat in one of the nearby chairs. 

“Why?” 

He could give many reasons, but they required coherent sentences. It was already a herculean effort, lifting his mouth to say “no.” It would be impossible to give a whole reason why he doesn’t want a wedding. Instead, he continues to stare at Thomas, hoping that he would be able to understand the plea in his eyes. They continue to stare at each other for an interminable moment of time. When Kaito says nothing more, Thomas nods his head and stands up. 

“I see. You’re worried that it won’t be as wonderful or as beautiful as you imagined. But don’t worry. I’m an artist. I make miracles happen,” declares Thomas with an air of pride.

“N...no,” pleads Kaito. 

Yet this time, he is completely ignored. 


	39. Silence

Silence

“You’ll look so pretty in your wedding dress!” sighs Thomas wistfully from the sewing machine. 

Christopher exchanges a glance with Kaito, sorrow in his eyes. Kaito’s gaze runs up his mentor. Being unable to form proper sentences, he leans his head against Christopher’s shoulder. Amidst the sounds of the sewing machine, the two are seated in the corner, watching as Thomas continues to add to their living nightmare. A wedding. How ridiculous. 

_ As I said before, he’s a child,  _ mouths Christopher. There’s a distant look in his eyes as he speaks.  _ I just wish we had given him the love he deserved sooner.  _

_ _ It takes Kaito awhile to figure out what Christopher is saying. When he finally realizes what was said, he gives his mentor a surprised look (Or as much as he could, given his situation). Wasn’t he miserable here? He supposes that his mentor had spent far too long with Thomas to be thinking correctly. Showing no reaction towards his mentor’s statement, Kaito turns towards Thomas and looks at him intensely working on Miss Arclight’s wedding dress. They had spent the entire afternoon together, with Thomas taking his measurements and then designing the wedding dress. Every action devoted towards his dolls was filled with love and care, each one treated like a unique treasure.

As much as Kaito hates to think of it, no one has cared for him like this ever since his mother passed away. But the warm baths and gentle hair brushing would never make up for Thomas’s disturbing comments. Every moment he spent with Thomas reminded him that Thomas did not see him as a person but as a doll. He was expected to obey all of Thomas’s whims with a smile. He had no voice and was merely an object that represented an impossible ideal. In short, it was no better than being back in Heartland Tower under Mr. Heartland’s rule. 

If he could still properly speak, he’d have loved to tell his mentor everything. But his lips were forcibly sealed. Even the act of eating had become almost impossible at this rate. Thomas’s words from this morning resurface and he shivers.  _ Perhaps we could insert feeding tubes into your stomach so that it won’t be hard for you to eat,  _ mused Thomas as he gently pried open Kaito’s mouth and fed him puréed fruit.  _ Would you like that?  _ Yet another addition to this nightmare. Profusely, he had shaken his head.  _ Enough is enough. _ Having his face stretched into a permanent smile and his limbs taken were already enough.

As the sewing machine continues to drill on, he can feel himself growing sleepy. Closing his eyes, he leans back onto Christopher’s shoulder and attempts to drift off to sleep. At least in the world of dreams he wasn’t forced to smile. 


	40. Decay

Decay

“Your hair’s falling out..,” sighs Thomas. “I’m so tired of this.”

Christopher looks at his brother helplessly. Recently, it had been such a hassle to style his hair. More than usual, it was falling out in large clumps. _ More signs that he was decaying from Thomas’s “love.” _He knows he should be furious, but he can no longer find it in his heart to be angry. Partially, it was his fault that Thomas had ended up like this. He had never offered emotional support to Thomas during his times of need, nor was he there during the years that Thomas was growing up. Perhaps this was how he was making up for it. As Thomas’s doll, he had no voice and could not walk away from him. He had to give all of his time to Thomas. There was no other choice.

Unexpectedly, the hand holding his hair turns into a clenched fist. Letting in a sharp exhale, Christopher feels his heartbeat begin to race as Thomas stands behind him, fist still wrapped around his hair. _ Thomas, what are you thinking…? _ mouths Christopher as he looks into the mirror. For once, he can’t read Thomas’s expression. When another moment passes by without another word from Thomas, Christopher swallows hard. _ Oh gods, just what was he going to do…? _Never has Thomas held his hair so roughly. Usually, he would treat his hair with the utmost care, taking care not to hurt Christopher as he untangled the long locks. Thomas would never dare hold his hair like this. Unless...unless...

His answer comes as a rough yank and the parting of a massive clump of hair from his scalp. The hair rips away so easily that it horrifies Christopher at the state of his body. Was he that ill? _ Stop, what are you doing?! _ he mouths furiously as Thomas grabs another clump of his hair. With one hand positioned on Christopher’s head and the other pulling, Thomas proceeds to methodically yank out the silver strands. _ Stop! Stop it! You’re hurting me! _screams Christopher. His screams are communicated as sharp exhales of air coupled by occasional squeaks. What he wouldn’t give to be able to properly voice his pain again! 

The hair continues to be pulled out and tears begin to fill Christopher’s eyes. Was he no longer loved by Thomas? Had he finally been able to see him as Christopher again, his awful, distant brother? Was that why he was doing this? The sounds of his hair being ripped from his scalp continues to fill his head and he lets out another desperate scream. He can already imagine Thomas throwing him out like a broken doll, corpse dumped in a garbage disposal bin for the raccoons to eat. No, he doesn’t want to die like that. Tears have blurred his vision and he can no longer think rationally. All he hears in his mind is the urgent desire to live and how beautiful he had once been.

It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he loved his hair. Every night, he would methodically brush his hair, 50 strokes per section. As a young child, he had prided in being able to braid it like their father’s. It gave him a sense of purpose, no matter how silly it seemed. Even when he grew older he was secretly proud of how straight and silky it was. At certain angles, it would capture the sunlight and shine like silver. Although he doesn’t like to admit it, he had enjoyed Thomas paying such close attention to his hair above the others. Compared to the other dolls, he always had the most elaborate hairstyles and ornaments in his hair. Thomas had continued caring for his hair with the same level of devotion as Christopher had. Now to see Thomas tearing it all away made the pain even worse. 

As the heaviness of his hair began to fall away, Christopher bends his head down in order to avoid his reflection in the mirror. He’ll admit it. He likes looking beautiful. Seeing himself deprived of his crowning glory breaks his heart. As Thomas’s beloved toy, he was able to look his best every single day. Now that he was being thrown away, he feels the lack of his beauty like a gaping abyss. His lip trembles as he feels the last of his hair being ripped away. Tears have blurred his vision as Thomas turns the chair away from the mirror. Gently, he feels Thomas’s hand under his chin. It props his head up to face him and he lets out a sob when he sees Thomas’s saddened expression. So. Was this goodbye? Body left in the woods, stripped of all of its former glory? 

Thomas’s eyes were such a pretty color. His sunny complexion reminds Christopher of their father. Why hadn’t he noticed how gentle Thomas’s face could be sooner? He was such a sad and broken thing, grown even sadder when no one had supported him. At this point, Thomas was so desperate for love that he had to take matters into his own hands. If only he had given his brother the love he needed before this. And now he would pay for his neglect. Thomas’s sad expression strikes a chord in Christopher’s heart. He would give anything to hold Thomas in his arms again and apologize. 

“You poor thing..,” Thomas whispers. “But it had to be done. I’ll fashion a wig out of it soon and then you’ll be back to being beautiful. Rose’s hair is also starting to fall out so I should start on hers too.”

Christopher stops his crying and blinks the tears away from his eyes. Looking up at Thomas, he’s met by a pity-filled gaze. Love fills Thomas’s eyes and Christopher can’t help but breathe a shuddery sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to die today. Giving Thomas a tired smile in return, he looks around and sees that they are surrounded by an ocean of silver. _ I don’t want to look in the mirror, _ murmurs Christopher. _ I don’t like looking hideous. _

“You’ll always be beautiful to me,” whispers Thomas as he kisses his brother. 

_ Don’t lie to me, _mouths Christopher, his tears threatening to spill over again. Thomas could be so kind sometimes. 

“I’m not. You’re my queen. And no matter what happens, you’ll always appear regal and beautiful,” reassures Thomas. 

He leans in for a kiss on the lips and Christopher accepts. It’s fucked. He knows that. It’s wrong. His old self would have pushed Thomas away and spat him out. Actually, he should be doing that right now. But he won’t because that would do him no good. It was better to silently accept his fate than to fight it. After all, he was just a doll. A part of him wishes to let out a scream of frustration. Another part of him wishes to give in. But for now, he’s too tired to fight. He’s just relieved. _ I’m not going to be thrown away. _


	41. A Petite Doll’s Wedding

A Petite Doll’s Wedding

The trailing, white gown clings to Kaito’s sides. It’s too tight at the top and too loose at the bottom. Looking down at his dress, he sees the tiny rhinestones that dot the bodice of the dress and the tiny bits of glue that surrounded them. Thomas had put so much effort into making his sick fantasy come true. A grudging bit of admiration is reserved for his dedication, whether Kaito likes to admit it or not. Had Thomas been dedicated to other, less disturbing things, he would have gone far. 

Thomas places the veil atop Kaito’s head and pulls it over Kaito’s face. The suit he wears is cream colored and appears more like a Victorian costume than clothes someone would actually wear to a wedding. The cravat he wears is held back by a pin shaped like his crest. The sight of the crest brings a chill down Kaito’s spine. On the battlefield, Thomas was ruthless. Kaito despised Thomas’s style of intimidating his opponent and then cutting them down. It wasn’t honorable, nor was it brave. Ever since the Arclights had kidnapped Haruto, he hadn’t had the stomach to duel Thomas again. 

“And here is our bride,” announces Thomas to the audience. 

In mismatched seats are Ryoga, Christopher, Michael and Rio. Their miserable gazes makes Kaito swallow hard. It seemed that with each week, they became more and more like the dolls on the shelves. Kaito’s attention turns back to Thomas as he holds his plastic hands. The lace gloves crinkle as Thomas’s grasp tightens around his hands. Through the veil, Kaito can see Thomas’s tender expression. It was so different from the one that had beaten Ryoga and shouted at Christopher. As if those were two different people. 

“As your husband, I vow to attend to your needs each and every day. I will love you unconditionally and return every beautiful smile of yours with my own. You are my treasure and I will treat you as such, each and every day until death do us part,” declares Thomas. 

His theatrical voice fills the room, giving a performance that would have earned applause had there been a more active audience. When the final traces of his voice fade, the room is once again plunged into silence. Kaito supposes that it was now his turn to give his vows. But even if he could talk, he would remain silent. This was a mockery of a ceremony. Seemingly anticipating Kaito’s silence, Thomas smiles and turns back to the audience. 

“It seems that the bride is a bit shy today. That’s alright, though. She can whisper to me.”

He leans his head onto Kaito’s shoulder. The soft smell of vanilla and cloves wreath around Kaito’s senses. Kaito continues to remain silent, yet he can feel Thomas nodding. After a moment of this continued silence, Thomas pulls away and a smile fills his face. He takes Kaito’s hands into his and squeezes. Removing Kaito’s veil from his face, he leans in for a kiss. As his warm lips run over Kaito’s paralyzed face, a whimper escapes from Kaito’s throat. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here at all. He should have been with his brother or Chris, working in the lab or out in the meadow catching butterflies. His place was not here, acting out a childish fantasy. 

When Thomas pulls away, Kaito can still feel the moistness of his lips on his face. His eyes follow Thomas as he walks down from the wedding arch and towards Christopher. In his lap is the ring pillow, two matching gold bands in the soft velvet. With his newly fashioned wig, it seemed that Christopher was one step closer to appearing less and less like himself. There wasn’t a single hair out of place, the tower of hair decorated with gold chains and flowers. Thomas picks up the pillow carefully and walks back towards Kaito. 

“I now pronounce us husband and wife,” he says. 

Taking off Kaito’s glove, Thomas gives Kaito a sheepish smile. The plastic hand’s four fingers were stuck together, leaving only the thumb free. 

“That’s not going to fit, now is it?” murmurs Thomas. “Well, no worries. I can wear the rings for the both of us.”

He rests the pillow between Kaito’s outstretched hands and slips the rings onto his fingers. Taking the pillow away and resting it onto the floor, Thomas pulls Kaito into an embrace. His whisper fills Kaito’s ear, and he’s sure that no one else hears it.

“I can’t wait for play time tonight.”

Kaito’s frozen expression twitches in response. 


	42. Wedding Night

Wedding Night

They can hear Kaito’s screams from down the hall. It’s a shrill, terrifying thing released from clenched teeth. It brought to mind the sound of someone trying to hold down their pain whilst being tortured. Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth. 

“Maybe Durbe will find us,” murmurs Ryoga. “Or Yuma.”

In the darkness of the doll room, no one can see his expression when he says that. For Ryoga to turn to hope as comfort was a dire thing indeed. Michael looks at the crescent moon through the window and thinks back to happier days. He had loved gathering under the cool summer sky and looking up at the stars with his family. Christopher had often entertained everyone with stories of his own fabrication and of myths about the stars. It was the stories about knights and warriors that Michael had enjoyed the most. On the other hand, Thomas had found those tales to be too formulaic for his tastes and preferred the legends about doomed beauties and automations come to life. Now that Michael thinks of it, the myth of Narcissus had been his favorite. 

Whenever the narcissus bloomed in their yard, he would have dragged either their father or Christopher out to tell the tale again. When he turned 12, he decided to tell the tale on his own. After so many years of hearing the story, he had recited the story perfectly, even adding a few of his own details. How loud and energetic his voice was! He was able to fill the flower-filled yard with his beautiful voice and movements, embodying the doomed youth better than Byron or Christopher ever could. At the end of his performance, as he died a convincing death, Michael had been moved to tears. He had rushed to Thomas and wept over him, convinced that his brother had actually died in the midst of the performance like Moliere. 

It wasn’t until Thomas petulantly shooed him away and snapped at him for ruining the performance that Michael had stopped crying. In the audience, Christopher and Byron had both clapped for Thomas’s performance. Even then they knew that he had the talent for entertainment. He remembers how Byron had approached Thomas and praised him, expressing his eagerness to see a repeat performance next year. But by next year, their father had been thrown down a cliff and Thomas had been taken to an orphanage. Was that where things had gone wrong?

Another scream from Kaito is heard, this time more pained. Michael’s eyes trail to his brother’s. In his throne, Christopher’s body is slumped against the backing. His head hangs at a forlorn angle and amidst the screams, his brother’s shuddery breaths are heard. A pang fills Michael’s chest when he hears Christopher crying. He must have blamed himself for this. He wants to walk over to him and hold him in his arms, but even that has been stolen from them. Throughout his childhood, Christopher had always been the one to comfort him in the absence of their father. Whenever he was in Christopher’s arms, he thought that nothing could go wrong. His brother Chris knew everything and was always there for him. 

Until he wasn’t. He still remembers Christopher’s stoic expression as he and Thomas were led away. It wouldn’t have hurt for Christopher to cry with them as they were being separated. But he didn’t. Perhaps it had been pride. His brother must have felt the need to set a brave example for his brothers and not cry. Before all of..._ this _...he had never seen Christopher cry in front of others. Yes, after their mother’s funeral he had heard Christopher sob behind the closed doors of his room, but he had never seen Christopher seek comfort in others whenever he was crying. He was so used to seeing his brother as a stoic figure that every time he saw or heard Christopher cry these past few months had been a shock. 

In the moonlight, he can see the side of his brother’s tear streaked face. There was none of the queenly majesty Thomas had painted on his face now. There was just his poor brother, Christopher. For once he couldn’t do anything at all. 

“We all want to kill him, don’t we?” mutters Ryoga. “We should all just bite him.”

_ What good would that do? _ Michael snorts at that suggestion and Ryoga turns to him. 

“What? Do you have a better idea?” 

No, he doesn’t, but biting wouldn’t do anything. It would take a lot more than that to stop Thomas. Their only hopes now were in the Barian emperors and Yuma. In the dim light, he knows that Ryoga would be unable to read his lips so he saves his snarkish reply for later. A brief period of silence fills the room, until the door swings open. _ Click. _The lights turn on and Thomas enters, carrying Kaito in his arms. Tears streak Kaito’s cheeks. Roughly, Thomas tosses him on the bed. Kaito’s wedding dress is torn in some places, the rhinestone beadwork peeling off at the bodice and wrinkles covering the white silk. 

Roughly, Thomas grabs every other doll and places them in front of the bed. Ryoga winces as he sees Kaito’s fearful eyes. He too had been like that. Dragging chairs over, Thomas places Rio, Christopher, Michael and Ryoga on the seats haphazardly and faces them. 

“This is what happens if you don’t behave,” growls Thomas. 

He turns back to Kaito and begins to roughly unclothe him. 

“You think you’re so good, don’t you?!” snaps Thomas. “Only my fucking brother can fuck you? Well he isn’t here anymore so you should just be happy with me!” 

Christopher winces when the wedding dress is discarded upon the floor. Kaito turns to the captive audience, eyes begging to be saved. Thomas begins to straddle him, one hand sliding off the lace underthings. 

“Chreeess…,” calls Kaito through his teeth. 

Tears fill Christopher’s eyes when Kaito is stripped naked, his mutilated body on display for all to see. _ I’m sorry, _he mouths. 

“Chreess…,” continues Kaito, urgency building in his tone. 

_ I can’t do anything, _ says Christopher, his lips trembling. _ I’m sorry. _

“Isn’t she beautiful…?” whispers Thomas as he strokes Kaito’s plastic limbs. 

Ryoga turns away, grimacing in disgust. Rio turns to him and mouths something that no one else can see. _ I wish he’d die. _

“That makes all of us,” mutters Ryoga back. 

“Hel...ee..,” begs Kaito. 

Thomas begins to kiss Kaito’s chest, moving slowly down his body. 

“Sto...iii…” 

“Shh...We could have done it in the bedroom but you were so naughty...now I have to punish you..,” whispers Thomas. 

Tears fill Kaito’s eyes as Thomas reaches his navel. Thomas’s tongue begins to trail down Kaito’s hips. When he reaches Kaito’s length, he begins to tease it with kisses. An uncomfortable whimper makes its way up Kaito’s throat. 

“You’re so pretty…,” cooes Thomas.

“N...no…,” whimpers Kaito. 

The scene disgusts Ryoga and he closes his eyes. On the other side, Christopher forces himself to watch, his chest heaving with sobs. He looks down at Michael, who watches the scene with emotionless eyes. A smirk fills Thomas’s face as he kisses Kaito’s tip. 

“My brother once said that you were very vocal about your needs. I wonder if you’ll do the same for me,” purrs Thomas. “After all, that’s the main reason why I let you keep your voice.”

Christopher and Kaito’s eyes widen in unison. _ I didn’t. I didn’t. Please, stop! _mouths Christopher fervently. 

“Chreess…,” whimpers Kaito. “...lease…”

“Won’t you moan for me?” asks Thomas as he strokes Kaito’s length. 

“...sto…,” begs Kaito. 

Ryoga swallows hard, no longer able to bear the scene. He takes in a deep breath and suppresses his pride.

In his most petulant voice, he whines, “Why isn’t master playing with Lili? Why is he with another one other than Lili? Lili doesn’t like that.” 

He can feel everyone’s stares focused on him. Despite his burning cheeks, he pushes on. He can see relief in Kaito’s eyes and for his sake, Ryoga pouts his lips and tries to look at Thomas in the most sullen way possible. There is no way he will allow another human being to be broken by Thomas. When he sees Thomas’s reaction, he feels his back stiffen a bit. A dark expression fills Thomas’s face and he pulls away from Kaito. Sliding off of the bed, he grabs Ryoga’s chin and begins circling his thumb around Ryoga’s cheek. 

“Because...she is misbehaving. And all of you need to know your place. What kind of master would I be if I allowed my dolls to do as they pleased?” 

He places a kiss on the tip of Ryoga’s nose and he lowers his voice. Despite that, everyone can hear his next words. 

“And since you play your part so well, I will allow you to discipline my wife after I do.”

Ryoga’s expression freezes and he can feel his heartbeat accelerate. _ No. _This was not what he had planned to happen at all. His eyes go to Kaito, whose expression seems more desperate than before. Noticing Ryoga’s lack of a reaction to his words, Thomas smiles and brushes away a few stray locks from Ryoga’s face. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks as he pulls away. 

In his fingers is a clump of violet locks. Ryoga takes in a shuddery breath when he sees the clump of hair in Thomas’s fist as he returns to the bed. Carelessly, he tosses the clump of hair onto the floor. _ They were all dying. _

“Now, where were we?” asks Thomas cheerfully as he bends down to kiss Kaito’s neck. 

Soon enough, he has taken Kaito into his mouth. Kaito’s desperate struggling is soon stifled and replaced with reluctant movements to Thomas’s sucking. A moan, more pained than not escapes from Kaito’s throat. Although his eyes are closed, his mouth is still stretched into a demented smile. 

Michael’s eyes turn to the floor. The sight sickens him, but he can do nothing to stop it. Briefly, he looks back up at Kaito and his breath catches in his throat. With his grotesque limbs and frozen expression, Kaito no longer seemed human. Despite the sounds of pain Kaito made and the tears running down his eyes, Michael forced himself to reduce Kaito to an object. A doll. Yes. That’s what he was. He was no longer alive. He looks at Christopher, whose face is painted white and whose eyelids were weighed down by thick eyelashes. Tears run down his rouged cheeks but still, he looks less human than ever. Then he turns to Rio, with her glass eyes and elaborate costume. Her expression is filled with anger, despite the cheerful circles painted on her cheek. Next came Ryoga, whose gaunt cheeks and tired expression showed the most out of all of them. He seemed more dead than alive. Yes, in a way, they had all died the moment Thomas had decided they were to join his domain. They were all objects. They were all dolls. 

Kaito arches his back and comes, his pained moan causing Christopher to wince. Thomas pulls away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He kisses Kaito’s tear stained cheek and whispers into his ear. 

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Pulling away from Kaito, Thomas looks up at Ryoga and smiles. 

“It’s your turn, Lili.”

Ryoga’s heart begins to beat faster in his chest. He can feel his mask cracking and the horror—the sheer horror of having to fuck Kaito against his will—fill his face. 

“I don’t want to,” he whispers. 

“What?” asks Thomas, his smile still on his face. 

“This is sick,” says Ryoga as he looks at Kaito who has begun audibly crying. “I won’t.” 

At this point, he doesn’t care what Thomas will do to him anymore. He looks at Thomas straight in the eye and steels himself. 

“I won’t do such a thing to him. It’s disgusting. How can you live with yourself, doing all of these things?” 

He holds Thomas’s expressions and sees Thomas’s smile curve into a frown. The dark expression returns and he pulls himself off of the bed.

“It was your idea in the first place, wasn’t it, _ Lili _?” asks Thomas quietly. 

“It’s Ryoga,” hisses Ryoga. 

Without a word, Thomas picks Ryoga up and carries him back to the bed. 

“I see that you’ve forgotten what it means to be a doll. We can’t have that, now can we?” asks Thomas as he slides Ryoga’s skirt off. 

“Don’t!” snaps Ryoga. “Fuck off!” 

Thomas clicks his tongue and tosses Ryoga’s skirt onto the floor. He slides off the bed and allows Ryoga to collapse onto his back. A feeling of helplessness wells up in Ryoga’s chest, but he bites back his tears and stops his lips from trembling. He’s had it with being abused. As he hears Thomas open up the bedside cabinet, he attempts to worm his way off the bed. _ Click. _The cabinet closes and Ryoga’s worming becomes more persistent. Even if he falls off the bed and injures himself, he doesn’t care anymore. 

Roughly, Thomas grabs Ryoga just before he can fall. Angrily thrashing, Ryoga lets out a shout of rage when he feels Thomas hold him back. 

“Wake up from this sick fantasy of yours and look at us! What the hell is wrong with you?! What happened to the—mmmpph!” 

The ball gag is tightly secured around his mouth and Ryoga lets out another scream. He smacks the back of his head against Thomas’s chest and hears Thomas hiss in pain. Thomas’s hands grab his throat and pushes him away. The grip turns into a stranglehold and Ryoga continues to struggle against Thomas. Despite the darkening at the edges of his vision and his oxygen quickly running out, Ryoga continues to struggle. He’s fine with dying. But he isn’t fine with Thomas breaking another human being, especially Kaito. 

“Mmpph…!” 

He’s roughly pushed against the mattress. As his thrashing weakens into a few sparse twitches, he can feel Thomas release his grip. He gasps for air and chokes on his own saliva as the gag blocks his oxygen intake. Tears spill from his eyes as he struggles for air. Distantly, he can hear the _ click click click _sound of Thomas bending and locking his silicone limbs. As he feels the oxygen return to his body, he realizes that he still possessed a will to live. He bites on the gag hard and his eyes narrow. No, he couldn’t die yet. Not until he truly hurt Thomas. 

As he is flipped onto his stomach, Ryoga hisses when he feels Thomas’s lubricated fingers enter him. The scissoring motions inside of him causes him to thrash in anger. He lets out a scream of frustration as he tries to worm away from Thomas, his locked limbs getting in the way of movement. Saliva dribbles from his chin and he hisses in frustration when his face is buried in the sheets. Closing his eyes tightly, Ryoga feels his breath catch in his throat when Thomas’s scissoring motions intensify. He hisses again, but can feel the start of tears stinging his eyes. No matter what he does, Thomas would always have his way. 

When Thomas withdraws, Ryoga keeps his face buried in the sheets. He wonders what III and V were thinking right now, being forced to watch this scene. And Rio. What did she think, when she heard him struggle? Did she know that all of his efforts would have been futile? Clenching his teeth, Ryoga hears Kaito’s whimper from above him.

Thomas’s hand crawls up Kaito’s plastic legs, earning himself a noise of discomfort from Kaito. As Thomas grabs Kaito’s length and begins pumping, Kaito lets out a groan and closes his eyes. _ No, not again. _ He can’t have this done to him again. He feels his chest constrict as Thomas pulls away. _ No, not again. _

Ryoga feels himself being lifted up from the sheets and he stiffens. He lets out a few muffled shouts of anger and sees Kaito squeezes his eyes shut. As Thomas positions Kaito into Ryoga, Ryoga’s struggling intensifies. 

“Mmpphh…!” shouts Ryoga as he feels Kaito enter him. 

Thomas holds onto his hips as he struggles and Ryoga wishes that his shoulders were strong enough to lift his silicone limbs and smack Thomas in the face. Yet his arms remain placed on Kaito’s chest and his legs remain bent and straddling Kaito. As he continues to struggle, he hears Kaito’s moans intensify. Ryoga tries to thrash against Thomas and smash the back of his head into Thomas’s nose, but he is held fast by Thomas’s hand. He feels one of Thomas’s hands creep down to his corset and undo the top strings. The corset is roughly tightened, forcing Ryoga’s posture to stiffen. Now unable to move much of his torso, Ryoga’s struggling falls to his hips. 

“There. Much better, isn’t it?” whispers Thomas teasingly. “You’ll make my wife feel better like this.” 

Ryoga stiffens when he looks down at Kaito’s expression, his eyes screwed shut and his cheeks red. It only adds to the demented smile and he shivers. His struggling lessens, but he feels Thomas grabbing his hips and forcing his motions to resume. Kaito’s length grows inside of Ryoga and he lets out a moan before he can stifle it. He doesn’t dare look at V the entire moment, too scared of seeing what he’ll see. Like Kaito, Ryoga closes his eyes and tries to imagine that he is nothing but a lump of flesh. Saliva dribbles down his chin and onto his neck. He fights against the gag, struggling to breathe through the small holes. 

“Hnngh…!” 

Ryoga feels himself come alongside Kaito, their moans coming out both muffled and pained. He keeps his eyes shut and feels himself being lifted out of Kaito and placed in the soft sheets. Kaito’s seed drips down his legs and Ryoga lets out a groan. He keeps his eyes shut and continues to repeat the mantra in his mind. He was nothing but a lump of flesh. He was nothing but a lump of flesh. He was nothing but a lump of flesh. 

  
Kaito’s sobbing causes Ryoga to open his eyes. Tears he hadn’t noticed before sting his eyes and he allows them to fall. _ He was still alive. _


	43. Escape

Escape

The night after their wedding, Kaito is placed next to Christopher on the dolls’ shared bed. In the light of the nightlight, Christopher’s painted face appears more ghastly than usual and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of fear. The memory of Thomas raping him was still fresh in his mind, along with his mentor’s blank expression. He feels his chest tighten at the memory and the tears sting his eyes. _ No. _ He can’t have that happen to him again. _ He can’t. _ The _ thing _next to him wasn’t even Christopher anymore. It didn’t even smell like his mentor. Chris would have done something. Chris would have stepped up and prevented this. Chris wouldn’t have even allowed the situation to get this bad in the first place. 

Swallowing hard, Kaito looks at the floor and compares it to the edge of the bed. He hopes it won’t hurt too bad. The openings from the operation haven’t fully healed themselves yet. Peeling himself away from Christopher’s side, it takes almost all of his strength to roll onto the floor. He winces when he meets the tile with an audible _ clack! _Biting his lip, he scans the dim surroundings of the doll room. The door was partially open to allow ventilation. Perhaps, if he can worm himself there, he can move it open with his face. 

_ Here goes nothing, _he thinks as he attempts to drag himself with his neck and face. It was pathetic. He knows that. He just hopes that no one will ever see him like this. The plastic limbs were too heavy for what remained of his shoulders to move. Putting his forehead on the floor, he drags himself a few centimeters away from the bed. The coldness of the floor seeps through his forced smile, allowing him to taste a hint of cleaning product. With his torso working with his head, he worms himself towards the door, painful centimeter by painful centimeter. Looking back, he feels a bit of despair when the bed is still at his feet. Already, his neck was beginning to ache. 

_ You can do this. For Haruto. _ That thought allows him to continue on for awhile longer. With each bit of progress, he can hear his plastic limbs drag on the floor. _ Fssh. Fssh. Fssh. Fshh. Thump thump thump thump. _ His heart is beating wildly in his chest as sweat gathers at his brow. There was always the chance that Thomas would find him. _ And what would you even do when you got to the stairs? Don’t even think about the door, _worries a voice in his head. The thought sends a bit of panic through Kaito’s body, but first things first. He needs to get out of this room. 

_ Creeakk... _The sound of cable wires at the back of the room makes Kaito freeze. Looking back, he sees the silhouette of Rio at the window. Rio’s head has turned towards him. Although he can’t see any of her facial features, he can sense her curiosity. 

“._ ..leeeaaavinggg.. _,” whispers Kaito through his teeth. 

_ Creak... _ The silhouette’s head surrounded by a magnificent headdress lowers a bit. _ Good luck, _she seemed to say. With Rio’s acknowledgement, Kaito feels a bit more encouraged to move. Although his body is aching, he knows that he needs to at least try to leave this place. Sweat is beginning to drip down his forehead. But the door has become closer. He drags his body across the floor with renewed vigor. He can do this. Heartland trained him under more grueling circumstances than this. This was nothing. Yes, this was nothing. 

_ Your limbs have been sawed off, _ a voice points out in his head. _ This is definitely worse. _ That voice again. The voice that always appeared whenever he was under stress. Self doubt. It had kept him up at night whenever he stole a soul as the Numbers Hunter. _ Are you sure this is right? It’s killing people. _ Gritting his teeth, Kaito pushes himself closer to the door. He can’t have the voice of self doubt now. _ Do you want to lose control again? Just like when you were under Heartland? _ an angry voice snaps back at his more timid half. With that, the voice silences and Kaito devotes all his energy into reaching the door. _ Just one more. Just one more. Just one more. _It has become his mantra, his lone lighthouse in his sea of desperation. His muscles ache, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to continue on. 

The floor has become a blessed sensation of cold against his now burning skin. Pain has started in what remained of his shoulders, but he ignores it. His breath heaves in his chest, yet he still painstakingly drags himself towards the door. Looking back at the bed, he’s filled with a small spark of hope as it has appeared further from his feet. The door was just a few more feet away. _ Just one more. Just one more. Fssh. Fssh. Thump. Thump. _The sounds have turned into a melody, beating out the time until his escape. If he keeps the melody going, he’ll be at the door in no time.

A bead of sweat trickles down his nose. He grits his teeth when he pushes his body forwards with his head, the cold floor a blessing. He’s almost at the door. Taking a few deep breaths, he pushes himself towards the door and lets out a weak exhale. Even if he’s pathetically worming himself to escape, it was still progress. It doesn’t matter how he escapes. He just wants to get away from IV._ I can’t lose control again, _he thinks as he hooks his head around the side of the door and opens it. 

Cool air from the hallway brushes past him. He takes in a breath of the refreshing air and feels a wave of energy fill him. _ The stairs. _ They were just a few doors down, the moonlight illuminating the dark wood. If his face hadn’t been frozen, he’d have been smiling with joy. He doesn’t care if he has to slide down the stairs and break something. It was still progress. With each movement he made, he would be further away from IV. Crawling towards the stairs, he feels something warm trickle down his shoulder. And pain, excruciating pain tear across his side. _ No. _

Looking at his shoulder in the dim light, he can see blood dripping out from where his shoulder and the plastic arm connected. _No. _The damn wound was reopening. He can’t have that. _I need to keep on going, regardless. I’ve gone too far to stop. _His heartbeat accelerates and panic fills his chest, but he forces himself to crawl towards the stairs. With each movement he makes, he can feel the blood dripping out of him with greater insistence. And the pain. The damn pain. His shoulder screams at him to stop but the memories of Thomas forcing Ryoga on him and Thomas’s warm mouth on Kaito’s flesh causes him to go on. The warmth has spread down to his sides and the stairs suddenly seem so far. 

He stifles a whimper of pain and feebly drags himself across the floor. He must escape. He must escape. _ He must escape. _ Tears of desperation bead in his eyes. _ At this rate, if you slide down the stairs, the wound will open even more and you might just end up bleeding to death, _ says the voice of self-doubt. _ But it’s better than staying here and getting raped, _ returns the angry voice. Taking in a pained gasp of air, Kaito moves his head against the floor, dragging himself an inch closer to his goal. _ You’re going nowhere, _despairs the voice of self-doubt. 

“Shut up! SHUT UP!” screams Kaito through his clenched teeth. 

He lets out a scream of anger as he feels the blood soak his dress and the pain intensify. With anger giving him a new burst of energy, he drags himself towards the stairs with renewed vigor. Sweat slides down his face and the side of his bodice is completely dark with blood. The carpet is warm compared to the tile floor in the doll room and it brushes against his chest uncomfortably. But he knows that downstairs, the floors would resume to being tile and progress would be a bit easier. If he can just get through the carpet…

Musty smells fill his senses every time he moves his face against the floor. Dust fills his lungs and his nose twitches with a sneeze. After a few more drags, he forces himself to sneeze into the carpet, his saliva wetting his face. Looking up, he takes in a few deep breaths. The stairs had definitely become closer. With that encouragement, he continues to drag himself towards the goal. His eyes are streaming with tears and his nose is dripping from all of the dust, but he knows he can make it. Sneezing a few more times, he prays that Thomas didn’t hear. He’s gone too far to be stopped. 

Every time he sneezes, he can feel the pain sharpen. The warmth of his blood has spread throughout his entire torso. He feels light headed, yet he pushes himself on. Breathing has become a bit difficult and the tears in his eyes blurred his vision. But the steps were there. The goddamn steps were there. With a grunt of effort, he heaves himself towards them. He must look terrifying, with his hair breaking free of the gel, in a stage halfway to its natural conical shape, to his face shining with sweat, his makeup rubbed everywhere after he dragged himself with his face for the last hour, and the blood that was still leaking out of his wound. A brief thought passes by his mind, wondering what Haruto would say if he saw his brother like this. The thought causes Kaito to freeze. 

Even if he was saved, would Haruto still love him just the same? Would they show Haruto him as he is right now? Unbendable plastic limbs and permanent smile? He would be terrifying to the 10-year old. Swallowing hard, he prepares himself to descend.

_ Cree. _ The sound causes Kaito to turn. A jolt of panic hits him like lightning when he sees Thomas slowly walking out of his room. _ It’s now or never. _ Ignoring his screaming muscles, he drags his head to the edge of the stairs and inches himself off. _ Just a bit more...just a bit more… _ The metallic stench of his blood is overwhelming. 

“What in the…?” 

Thomas’s voice causes Kaito to let out a grunt of panic. With all of his strength, he throws his body off the stairs. He can feel his body sliding and the wind rushing against his face. _ You’re going to break something, _ warns a voice in his head. _ It’s too late to worry about that. _He closes his eyes and prepares to fall on his face, but the moment never comes. The wind abruptly stops. The stump that remains of his leg feels a slight tug. Opening his eyes, Kaito turns around and his heart leaps to his throat. In the moonlight, the shadows casted on Thomas’s face made him even more demonic than usual. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, anger shaking his voice. 

A keening noise makes its way up Kaito’s throat. He had been so close. Roughly, Thomas drags him back up the stairs and into his room. 

“..Lease…! No! No!” begs Kaito through his teeth. “...sto…!” 

The suffocating air of Thomas’s room fills Kaito’s lungs and he chokes back a scream. Roughly, Thomas slams the door behind them. Thomas turns on the lights and Kaito blinks painfully as his eyes burn. Disgust fills Thomas’s expression when he sees the blood and smeared makeup. 

“You’re disgusting,” hisses Thomas. “After all I’ve done for you…” 

He unzips the back of Kaito’s dress and slips it off. His displeasure deepens when he sees that the bleeding hasn’t stopped. Picking Kaito up, he walks into his bathroom and throws Kaito in the bathtub. A yelp of pain answers him and it only makes Thomas angrier. He grabs the back of Kaito’s hair and slams his face against the porcelain tub. Screams of pain fill the room as Thomas continues to slam Kaito against the tub. _ Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. _ Blood begins to spurt from Kaito’s nose and smear the white porcelain. 

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKING LOVE ME?!” screams Thomas when he sees the blood. He throws Kaito against the tub one last time and then walks away.

When he returns, rags are slung over his shoulder, he holds bandages in one hand and a sewing basket with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other. Silently, he sets them down. Grabbing a tissue from the counter, he pushes it up Kaito’s nose. He opens the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and proceeds to pour it over Kaito’s wound, causing Kaito to scream as the stinging intensified. With the rags, he begins to wipe the blood away. Kaito can only look at Thomas as he cleans the wound. Thomas’s thick eyebrows are furrowed in anger and his mouth is a thin line. Once he’s satisfied with the results, he grabs a needle from the basket, disinfects it with the hydrogen peroxide and proceeds to sew the wound up. Kaito whimpers in pain but Thomas continues to be silent. 

His face soon curves into an expression of concentration as he sews up the wound. After checking his work three times, he cuts the thread and unrolls the bandages. Tenderly, he bandages up the wound, sighing as the white bandages slowly turn red from the bleeding. 

“It’ll stop soon,” he says, as a means of reassuring himself and Kaito. 

A part of Kaito wants the wound to continue to bleed. A part of him doesn’t. 

“Let’s redo your makeup and then get you ready for bed.”

Dread fills Kaito’s stomach.


	44. Hopes

Hopes

The next morning, Thomas arrives at the breakfast table with a thin smile. The light doesn’t fill his eyes as much as usual and Ryoga purses his lips. He had heard Kaito’s screams of pain after he had attempted to escape and it had been worrying him the entire night. What if in a fit of anger, he had killed Kaito? 

“Is...is...Mrs. Arclight okay?” asks Ryoga as Thomas pours his tea. 

“She’s fine,” replies Thomas. “Her wound just reopened so she’ll be spending a few days recovering in my room.” 

_ In my room. _Ryoga swallows hard. He doesn’t think Thomas would have play time with Kaito while he was injured, but he could never be too sure. Thomas’s sadistic streak tended to show up at unexpected moments. But so could his tender side. Usually, after one of them became injured, Thomas would treat them with care until they healed. He’s been bruised and beaten far too many times to count, but he’s always thankful for the recovery time afterwards. At least Thomas wasn’t treating him like a disposable blow up doll. 

As Thomas goes around feeding everyone, Ryoga’s thoughts drift off to himself. Sometimes, he can’t remember the fact that he’s human anymore. With all of the senseless rape and torture he was put under, he was disassociating more and more with whatever happened to his body. Sometimes, he’s afraid that he’ll completely drift off and never be able to return. He still wants to live. He’s only 18, a life still far ahead of him. He wants to see the world and duel in championships. The sparkling cities that stretched across the world, the interesting customs and fashions he would see...All of it, all of it beckoned to him like a seductive dream. 

To be completely honest, he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to recover from this if he’s saved. He wouldn’t even know where to start. There would be physical rehabilitation. Years and years of it. And therapy. So much therapy. If he ever escapes, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to sleep in peace again. Now, he wakes up at every creak, crack or bump. He hates the sound of footsteps in the dark and things that he can’t see touching him. And the nightmares he has. A mixture of his worst drug trips and the horrors he witnessed in his past life. 

They all come to life, crawling from the darkest recesses of his mind. Voices call for him, all belonging to those long dead. _ My king, why couldn’t you save us? My king, we died for you. My king, you left us to die. My king, my sacrifice was in vain. _ He smells blood, sweat and tears along with burning flesh. There was nothing glorious about war. _ My king, I thought you would have protected me. _More than once, Iris would appear, her small face worn with age. The flowers in her hands have wilted and her body is impaled with arrows. She crawls towards him, one leg dragging behind the other. Just as she is about to touch him, she melts away into ashes. Then he would feel his limbs being sawn off and artificial limbs hammered into his open flesh. No matter how much he begs or screams, it never stops. 

Hands would then crawl across his body, covering his mouth and stifling his screams. Fingers would enter his mouth and turn into slugs, choking him. He would feel their slimy bodies crawl down his throat and under his skin. They ripple under his skin, bringing unbearable prickles and itching. Yet he would be powerless to stop them as he had no arms or legs. This and many other horrors would follow until he would wake up screaming. Sometimes, he would awaken with his mouth encircled around Thomas’s flesh, his master’s body moving against his. And he would continue to scream, his voice stifled. 

He wonders if dying would be better than this during such moments. If he can’t have any peace awake or sleeping, then where would he be able to regain his humanity? He looks across from him, where Rio sits. She looks at him with her soulless glass eyes, even as Thomas feeds her. Before, she would have tried to bite Thomas. The gnashing of her teeth was always something Ryoga looked forwards to hearing at the table. It showed that at least one of them was still fighting. After he had met Rio after the accident, Thomas had always seemed to fear her. Even when she was mutilated like this, Thomas tended to give her a wide berth. Instead of slapping her for trying to bite him, Thomas would gently chide her. Only once did he dare shout at her and the expression she gave him was so fearful, he never shouted at her again. Eventually, Thomas only fed Rio every two or three days for fear of being bitten. Ryoga’s sure that starving Rio took a part in breaking her spirit, but he says nothing about that to her. He’s sure she knows it too. 

Nowadays, she allows herself to be fed, just like the rest of them. He hasn’t heard the gnashing of her teeth against thin air in awhile now. Nor against flesh. Ryoga sighs and continues to look at Rio, even though he knows that she can’t see him. 

She had wanted to be a lawyer. Her strong sense of justice would have done well in the courtroom, and her no-nonsense personality would have cowed any unruly criminal. He remembers the late nights she had stayed up in order to catch up on her lessons after she was released from the hospital. Her eyebrows were always furrowed in concentration whenever she studied, as if she was on the verge of a massive discovery. He had secretly enjoyed watching her study, a sense of pride welling in his chest. _ One day, I’ll see her in the stands. _

They would be successful in their respective fields, he had dreamt. She would dominate the courtroom, walking across the tile floor in her smart business suit, her loud and clear voice filling every corner of the room. The judge would listen intently to her words, careful to not upset her. Meanwhile, he would have the audience roaring with excitement whenever he entered the arena. Lights that were on the verge of blinding would shine on him whilst the announcer would declare that he, Kamishiro Ryoga, the prince of the ocean, had entered. Looking at him and Rio now, their dreams seemed impossible. 

  
Ryoga opens his mouth to accept the breakfast pastry, although his throat aches at its sweetness. Thomas’s smile is still thin, darkness still lurking in the depths of his expression. _ Best not to upset him today, _thinks Ryoga as he takes another bite.


	45. Shiny White Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read at your own risk. This will be one of the most disturbing moments in the story.

Shiny White Things

Getting dressed was the worst part of the day. In the room of mirrors, Kaito was forced to confront his demented expression. That ever-present smile he was forced to don haunts him, even at night. When could he freely move his muscles again? Kaito runs his tongue behind his teeth and his heart skips a beat when he feels a tooth loosen. Oh gods...what was happening to his body? As Thomas slips off his dress, Kaito winces when he sees his exposed torso. His ribs are stretched across his skin, a sign that he didn’t—couldn’t have enough to eat. 

It was always so difficult, forcing his mouth apart and chewing the food that entered his mouth. Something that he had taken for granted his entire life was now gone and he misses it more than ever. When he looks at the other dolls with their gaunt faces and visible ribs, he knows that he’s becoming more and more like them each day. Now that his wound had healed, he was now at Thomas’s mercy, just like the others. The thought disgusts and scares him at the same time. Soon, he would be reduced to the same defeated state as they were. 

The tooth continues to wiggle. He had always taken good care of his teeth in order to set a good example for Haruto. Now with this, it was like a mark of shame. But it wasn’t his fault. He keeps on thinking back to the night where he tried to escape, and how Thomas bashed his face against the porcelain tub over and over again. That must have been why his tooth was loose. Every time he thinks of that night, his body aches in pain.  _ So close. Yet so far.  _

“Is that a loose tooth, darling?” asks Thomas as he looks at Kaito’s face.

Kaito slowly nods and sadness fills Thomas’s expression. Gently, Thomas cups Kaito’s face in his hands. Unease fills Kaito’s eyes as he looks up at Thomas’s face. 

“I can’t have a broken doll, now can I?” breathes Thomas. 

Panic fills Kaito’s chest and he looks away.  _ Just what was Thomas insinuating?  _

“Do you have any more loose teeth?” continues Thomas.

“N...no..,” mumbles Kaito, even though he can feel other loose teeth besides it.

“Okay. Well...your teeth are really nice, but they’re not pure white like mine. Do you want teeth like mine?” asks Thomas cheerfully.

Kaito shakes his head and tries to quell the panic in his chest. Thomas’s expression hardens. 

“Why? You’re going to be smiling forever, so you should have a nice pair of teeth to show off.”

_ Oh gods, what was Thomas going to do?  _

Slowly, Thomas’s finger creeps to the loose tooth. He begins to wiggle it more and more until Kaito lets out a whimper. He’s silenced by a shushing noise from Thomas. When the tooth is sufficiently loosened, Thomas pries open Kaito’s mouth and pinches the tooth with his two fingers. As he pulls the tooth out, Kaito lets out an alarmed shout. 

“...top…!..top…!” shouts Kaito as Thomas holds him down. 

“It’ll be over soon. Don’t worry...see…? There we are,” soothes Thomas as he shows Kaito the tooth he pulled out. 

A smile is on his face, as if this was a normal thing. Blood trickles from Kaito’s gum and he swallows hard. Thomas trails his finger across Kaito’s teeth and makes a clicking noise with his tongue.

“You lied to me. There’s quite a lot of loose teeth here. Let’s head to the workshop. We definitely have some work to do.”

As he’s carried into the workshop, Kaito’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. Laying him onto the table, Thomas secures Kaito’s body to the cold surface with leather straps. He begins to whistle a tune as he sifts through the box of medical instruments. When he finds the pair of pliers, he picks it up and wipes it down with an alcohol wipe. Turning back to Kaito, the whistling stops. His voice has softened.

“I’m not going to lie. This will hurt.” 

A whimper escapes from Kaito’s throat. 

“P...lease...no..,” he begs as Thomas wipes down his arm. 

“I know you’re scared and I understand why you would lie to me about your teeth. The anesthetic might help a bit, though, so don’t worry too much,” reassures Thomas as he begins to walk to the other side of the room. 

When he returns with an IV drip, he carefully inserts a needle into Kaito’s vein and bandages up the drip. Slowly, Kaito can feel the darkness lapping at the edges of his mind. When his eyes flutter sleepily, he sees Thomas lean over him. Dully, he can feel the pliers pinch his tooth. And then his mind clears as excruciating pain explodes across his face. A scream escapes his throat as he feels the tooth being pulled from his gums. Despite the anesthetics, he can still feel the pain permeating his senses. 

Tears fill his eyes when the tooth is pulled out, bloody and white. Yet Thomas continues on, pinching another tooth and pulling. Kaito can feel nothing but excruciating pain as his teeth are pulled out, one by one. His screams reach a fever pitch, sounding as if someone was being murdered. Actually, being murdered was better than this. Yet his mind remains awake, painfully aware of what was happening to him. Curse his training in Heartland! Back then, it was a terrible thing to lose consciousness amidst waves of pain. Who knew what Mr. Heartland would have done to him if he blacked out? 

But now, all he wants is to lose consciousness. Let Thomas do as he pleased to his body, because he couldn’t even stop him in the first place. Another scream is ripped from his throat and his tears have covered his entire face. It was difficult to see through his tears, but he could always see the blob that was Thomas. No matter how much his body thrashed against its restraints, he continued to feel Thomas’s strong hands on his face and the pair of pliers pulling out his teeth. He wants to die. He should have asked Thomas to kill him when Ryoga told him to. He should have listened. Another lightning bolt of pain rips through his face as the pliers rip away yet another tooth. How many teeth have been pulled out yet? He doesn’t want to think about it too much. Another one is ripped out of his mouth and his scream crescendos. 

_ An adult has 32 teeth,  _ says a voice in his head. The thought of going through this excruciating pain 32 times terrifies Kaito to no measurable extent. 

“AH….AHHHH!” screams Kaito, choking on his own blood as he feels another tooth being torn from his flesh. “STOP IT!! STOP IT!!!”

Thomas is silent in reply. He places the tooth in a cup and returns to Kaito. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he grabs another tooth with the set of pliers. One hand holds open Kaito’s mouth while the other pinches the pliers. And then he pulls. 

“KILL ME!” shrieks Kaito, tears blurring his vision. “KILL ME! PLEASE! FUCK! KILL ME!”

His plea ends in a blood curdling shriek, his throat aching with pain. He arches his back, straining against the leather strap that holds him still. Thrashing and struggling against Thomas only leads to more pain as another tooth is pulled. 

“PLEASE!!!” 

Yet Thomas continues to pull out his teeth with silent efficiency. Due to his stubborness, Kaito had refused to die. Due to his stubborness, he had refused to black out. And now here he was. He feels another tooth ripped from his gums and screams his throat raw. The metallic tang of blood has filled his mouth, dripping down his lips. He can no longer tell if the blood at the back of his throat is from him screaming too hard or from his bleeding gums. His eyes look up at Thomas pleadingly, begging him to stop this torture. But the hand continues to hold him down and the pliers continue to pull out his teeth. The pliers are stained with his blood, shining red in the bright light. When another one is pulled out, Kaito sees how white and shiny the tooth is against the red. He wants to die. But he can’t. 

The stray thought of Haruto slowly fills Kaito’s mind. What would Haruto say about this? His brother losing all of his teeth in one day and looking like an old man. How irresponsible.  _ Clink.  _ Another tooth is placed on the metal tray. He lets out another scream. What would Chris say? What would Mizael say? Their faces fill his mind and his heartbeat accelerates. Oh gods, what has Thomas done to him?  _ Clink.  _ Who was he anymore?  _ What  _ was he?

Toothless, for one. He could almost laugh at that, but the pain was too blinding.

Dark spots begin to fill his vision and the faces in his mind blur. He feels another tooth being pulled and in a brief moment of clarity, realizes that he was on the verge of blacking out. Welcoming the darkness with open arms, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he lets out a final weak cry.  _ Clink.  _


	46. Rescue

Rescue

“The authorities won’t do anything. We need to take this into our own hands,” declares Mizael. 

His eyes are rimmed with dark circles and his once immaculate hair is in dishevelled. First Nasch and Merag and now Kaito. 

“It’s IV. I know it,” says Mizael, a tremble in his voice. 

Durbe turns to him, exhaustion in his every move. 

“And what do you suppose we do?” he asks quietly.

“We should go into the Arclight mansion right away and demand IV tell the truth!” says Yuma as he jumps up from the table.

His red eyes burn with energy, unlike the rest of the Barians. 

“What if he also kills us?” asks Gilag timidly.

“Us, against him? Good luck,” chuckles Alit.

“ _ Us?”  _ echoes Gilag.

“Yes,  _ us _ . Safety in numbers,” replies his best friend. 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to get in a fight anyways,” mutters Vector from the back of the room. 

All eyes turn to him. Vector receives the attention with a nonchalant shrug. 

“What? I’m starting to miss Nasch’s irritating voice and his little fights with Merag.”

Tired smiles fill the room. Pumping his fist in triumph, Yuma grabs a nearby piece of paper and begins to scribble furiously. 

“Okay, we should start a plan,” begins Yuma.

“Plan? You were never one for plans,” calls Vector. “You always just barged in and improvised.”

“Over the years, I’ve learned that if you’re going to confront someone who’s potentially going to kill you, it’s best to have a basic plan.”

Vector laughs and peels himself from the cushion in the back. Walking over to the table to where all the Barians were, he leans over to look at Yuma’s scribbling. He lets out a low whistle. 

“That’s a big house they have.”

“It was great, being at their house for III’s graduation party,” chuckles Yuma. “But it’s not going to be as fun when we’re searching for people.”

Nods of agreement follow. 

“So are we knocking on the door or breaking in?” asks Mizael. 

“How about both?” offers Alit. “Someone can knock on the door to distract IV and then the others can break in.”

“Then we’ll need to split up. The highest risk comes with the person who will be acting as a distraction. Who is willing to do that?” asks Durbe. 

Vector raises his hand, an amused smirk on his face. 

“The art of deception has always been my talent.” 

“Okay. Then that leaves five people to break in at different points,” muses Yuma. 

He takes out a different colored pen and circles five points on the side of the house. 

“We’ll need people on all three floors. I’ll cover the first floor.”

“Gilag and I will be happy to do the basement!” volunteers Alit. 

“Then that leaves Durbe and I on the third,” says Mizael. 

Writing that down, Yuma looks up as he’s struck by a sudden thought.

“But what if he’s innocent?” he asks quietly. 

“He’s not,” snaps Durbe. “I ran through all the interviews with him. He’s lying.”

Yuma slowly nods. 

“Alright then. So, for those of us who are breaking in, we need to make sure we aren’t loud. We also need to know where the stairwells are,” says Yuma as he makes a rough sketch of stairs in the layout. 

“Take out the screen, push up the window from the outside if it isn’t locked and then crawl in,” says Vector. 

“But what if it’s locked?” asks Gilag. 

“Take a rock,” says Vector. 

“But then it’s loud,” protests Alit. 

“Unless you know how to pick locks, you have to be loud. Simple as that.”

“Then teach us how to pick locks,” says Gilag. 

Vector raises an eyebrow, but can’t help a smile from appearing on his face.

“But first, let’s flesh out our plan,” he says as he points to the layout. 

“When will we be doing this?” asks Durbe. 

Yuma looks down at the layout and then back at everyone. 

“If we can get everything going, then next week.”


	47. Release

Release

Kaito swims in and out of consciousness, the unbearable pain always encouraging him to fall back into the abyss. He still cannot feel his mouth and distantly is aware of the fact that he is still forced to smile, even when he was completely toothless. It must have been a hideous smile, the gaping abyss that was his mouth. Especially when his mouth bleeds. A bloody, toothless smile. Just what had Thomas done to his body? 

The door opens and footsteps follow. From the sound of it, it was none other than Thomas. Kaito keeps his eyes closed and prays that Thomas has merely come to slip a painkiller into his mouth. When he hears Thomas sit down beside him, he stiffens.  _ Clack.  _ Something is placed besides him.  _ Ka thunk.  _ Another thing is set down. Nervously, Kaito’s eyes open. On the metal tray is a set of teeth, pearly white and straight. Besides that is a hammer. He swallows hard. 

“You’re going to be good as new. Isn’t that great?” asks Thomas excitedly. 

He doesn’t want to think about the hammer, nor the new set of teeth. He just wants to go back to sleep. His empty mouth aches as Thomas opens it and he lets out a low moan. 

“Kill ee,” he whispers. 

He’s had it with being a toy. He wants to be human again, even if that means dying. Because dolls didn’t die. They weren’t even alive in the first place. His wrist is wiped down and he groans. 

“P...ease...kill ee,” he whispers again. 

He hates his broken voice. Hates hearing it, hates using it. 

“You’ll be beautiful again. It’ll all be better. I promise,” whispers Thomas as he inserts the IV. 

“No…”

Tears bead in his eyes. He doesn’t care anymore if Thomas sees him cry. In fact, he stopped caring weeks ago. The only thing he wants is for this madness to end and see Haruto again. The tears fall down his cheeks when he realizes that Haruto’s face has become blurred in his mind. A face he had seen and loved every single day was beginning to fade from his memory. How could that happen? When he closes his eyes, he can only see Thomas’s hateful face. As the sedative takes effect, the face melts into that of a red-faced demon. Thomas’s magenta eyes shine through the darkness and the demon gives him a toothy smile. 

Distantly, he can feel a tooth being pressed against his sore gums. And then a lightning burst of pain as it is hammered into his flesh. His screams fill the room and his eyes open. The demon’s face has vanished, but its eyes have remained. Again, the hammer swings down and he struggles against his restraints. He’d rather have his gaping hole of a demented smile than this. The tears rush down his cheeks as the tooth is hammered in, the sound of the hammer against the tooth reverberating throughout his skull.

Was this hell? It must be. He was here to atone for his sins. That must be it. He feels another tooth being placed onto his gums. Blood has filled his mouth and he swallows, too weak to spit it out. The metallic tang and smell fills his senses and he gags. Thomas’s face is covered by a surgeon’s mask, his gloves stained with even more blood. The hammer in Thomas’s hand raises. Yes, this was most definitely hell. With each mind breaking smack of the hammer, Kaito feels himself breaking further and further apart. Soon, he’ll be reduced to nothing. Ashes, smithereens, dust. All he can taste is blood and all he can hear are his own screams. And the only thing he can feel is pain. 

_ Painpainpainpainpainpainpain. Bang! Painpainpainpainpain. Bang! Bang!  _ He arches his back and his screams reach a fever pitch as a tooth is hammered deep into his flesh. He wants to die. He truly wants to die. But he can’t. Out of all the times he had said he would rather die, this time, he means it. Ironically, he can no longer speak properly. Maybe he’ll bleed to death. Maybe he’ll upset Thomas enough so that he’ll bludgeon him to death with the hammer. The only ray of light he has. Hoping, wishing and wanting. A new tooth has started entering his flesh. Kaito lets out another scream as black spots fill his vision. 

“KILL EE! KILL EE!” he begs, choking on his own blood. 

_ Bang!  _ Kaito struggles against his restraints with newfound fervor. Yet underneath the mask, he cannot read Thomas’s expression. He can only see Thomas’s eyes. Magenta, glimmering and with a mad glint to it. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels another impact bludgeon his mouth. Writhing for a few more moments, he notices that the darkness has increased in his vision. Begging for a quick release, he convulses in pain a few more times. Maybe this will be the last time he will black out. Wouldn’t that be such a nice thought? 

  
_ Bang. _


	48. Perfect Doll

Perfect Doll

Light fills his vision and pain, so much pain fills his head. Kaito lets out a small groan and feels a gentle hand on his cheek. 

“M...ma..?” he slurs, his mouth screaming in pain. 

A metallic tang fills his mouth and he lets out a groan. His face feels wet and sticky with liquids. 

“Sh..,” whispers a voice. “We’re almost done. Just open your mouth…”

Blearily, Kaito obeys and his vision swims. He blinks a few more times until his vision clears. His eyes widen in fear and all the memories come rushing back at him. Thomas stands over him, a bottle of industrial-strength glue in his hands. 

“You can truly smile forever now,” he says, a small smile on his face. 

Kaito’s heart begins to beat faster in his chest. How will he be able to eat? How will he be able to talk properly? He fights against his restraints and against the pain in his face feebly. 

“No..st...stop..,” wheezes Kaito, his newly hammered-in teeth protesting with sharp bursts of pain. “Plea…”

“Shh...It’ll be over soon. Just close your eyes and sleep.”

A hand gently guides Kaito back onto the coolness of the metal table. Another hand pries his mouth open. 

“...O….ea..,” whispers Kaito. 

The hand on his forehead pulls away and uncaps the glue bottle. 

“You’ll be pretty again. Isn’t that great?”

The bottle lowers into his mouth.


	49. Unloveable Barbie

Unloveable Barbie

“There. Good as new.”

Once again, disgust fills Kaito’s chest when he sees his reflection. His bright red lips and pearly white teeth meld together at the edges of his lips, his gums still dripping with blood. The whiteness of the teeth terrify him. They’re too white and look as if they were made for bright, artificial smiles. Along with that, they’re perfectly straight. It irritates him, the perfection of these teeth. How could so much violence and pain lead to such beauty? Thomas takes a napkin and dabs at Kaito’s chin as the blood begins to trickle down. 

If possible, his face has become even stiffer than before. No thanks to a new set of injections, it was now impossible to move his eyebrows or the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t help but think of his father’s high cheekbones, now that Thomas had decided to fill his cheeks out. They were disgustingly plump, too shiny and smooth to be considered healthy. That description could be applied to all of his face, really. Too smooth and shiny to bear a semblance to what a normal human face should look like. _ Like plastic. _

He looks like a rejected idea for a 1950’s housewife doll that snapped and ate her husband alive. Asides from his bleeding mouth, everything else was in order. His hair was sculpted into cheerful waves, not a single hair out of place. The dress he wears sports colorful floral patterns and a spotless apron, all against his hourglass figure. His body looks even more artificial now that Thomas had decided to put him into a suffocating waist trainer. Every single button at the front is polished and gleams with newness. The pearl earrings placed in his newly pierced ears match with the buttons and the rest of his pearl jewelry. His arms are awkwardly placed on the armrests, nails shining with a fresh coat of polish. Peep-toe heels match his dress and reveal a similar set of newly painted toenails. Now, it was nearly impossible to tell what was plastic and what was flesh. Kaito’s skin crawls at that thought. 

Looking back up at his reflection, he was almost convinced he truly _ did _ eat his husband alive after years of rigid misogyny and being forced to smile all the damn time. He can taste the blood in his mouth and imagines biting into Thomas’s flesh, his skin ripping away with a tearing noise. Just for the sake of inflicting Thomas the same pain as he was forced to go through, he would gladly commit cannibalism. 

“I’m sorry about the feeding tube, but that’s just what we need to do now that I glued your teeth together,” says Thomas as he stands Kaito up. 

_ Oh yes. That too. _ Kaito hates thinking about Thomas cutting a hole inside of him and forcing him to eat his food that way. He’ll never taste caramel again. _ Only blood _. He’ll only taste his own blood from now on and the thought disgusts him. As he is moved back into the doll room, he thinks of all the food he will never be able to taste again. So many things he had been taking for granted were being taken away from him. The thought brings a pang to his chest. If he ever escapes, he’ll never be the same again. 

Tears prick his eyes and slide down his cheeks. Now, this was the only way he could easily communicate his needs. Thomas makes a few sympathetic noises and uses the same blood soaked handkerchief to wipe his tears away. 

“Stop it...You’ll ruin your makeup..,” whispers Thomas. 

“...Yu ‘ate ee,” says Kaito through his teeth, his trembling voice distorting his words further. 

Thomas looks at him in puzzlement for awhile. Slowly, realization fills his eyes and he pulls Kaito into an embrace. 

“Don’t say that. I love you. Really.” 

Blinking his tears away, Kaito looks directly into Thomas’s eyes. 

“YU ‘ATE EE, AT’S I YUR DU’NG ALL ISS!” screeches Kaito in his broken voice. 

He doesn’t care if Thomas can understand him anymore. He’s so angry and tired. He just wants to scream. Thomas looks at him calmly and doesn’t bother to brush his tears away. His gentle demeanor has vanished. 

“And so what if I hate you for taking Chris away from me and Michael? You can’t do anything about it now,” he says quietly. 

Tears have blurred Kaito’s vision and he continues to scream sentences that are even less intelligible. 

“You look disgusting, even to me at times. So there’s no way Chris could stand you now! Don’t you see it in his eyes?! In everyone’s eyes when they look at you?! You’ve become something only I can love, so you might as well submit and love me,” hisses Thomas.

Stung by Thomas’s words, Kaito silences. He swallows hard and thinks back to everyone. Pity. Wariness. A rare smile. But always pity-filled. Disgust. But it wasn’t his fault that he looked like a plastic toy. It was Thomas’s fault. A low keening noise makes its way up his throat along with a fresh wave of tears. 

“And don’t even think about escaping now. No one will take you home with a body and face like that. Even your little brother would run away in fear,” says Thomas coldly, nailing in the final blow. 

Imagining Haruto’s disgusted expression brings a fresh wave of tears into Kaito’s eyes. He would never be able to explain to him why he looked like this, not with his teeth glued together and his face frozen into a smile. The keening noises continue until Thomas pulls him into another embrace. 

“So...only I will love you now. And you might as well do the same.” 

With a final sob, Kaito buries his face in Thomas’s chest, even though he knows that deep down, Thomas does not love him but hates him with a burning passion. A small thought fills Kaito’s mind as he buries his face in Thomas’s clothes: Even he has come to hate his reflection. 

Illustration for Kaito [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1WG_w5Zm-cOra0xJfA2_YJOMEwdomowOd)


	50. I’m Disgusting

I’m Disgusting

When Christopher sees Thomas carrying Kaito into the doll room, his heart skips a beat. He can feel the telltale feelings of disgust and wariness well up in his chest from the uncanny valley effect that Kaito now exuded. Ashamed that he would feel such a thing towards his own friend, he averts his gaze when Kaito looks at him. His eyes inadvertently turn to Ryoga, whose expression is also filled with disgust. A pang fills Christopher’s chest when Kaito passes by him, the smell of perfume wafting after his friend. Slowly, his eyes trail to Michael besides him. The same disgust. The guilt multiplies in Christopher’s chest and he forces himself to look at Kaito once again. Before he can stop it, disgust fills his expression. 

Yet Kaito’s face only blinks in response. The mouth remains frozen in a chilling smile, the cheeks plump with filler. Not even his eyebrows move. He’s placed on his feet with a _ clack _of his heels next to Ryoga across the room. Thomas kisses Kaito on the cheek and then turns to leave. 

“Everyone, please give Mrs. Arclight a warm welcome back! The press has been demanding yet another interview from me, so I must be off,” he says sullenly. “Those bloody bastards don’t understand a thing!” 

The door closes behind them, the sound of another door opening following soon after. In the doll room, everyone avoids each other’s glances until Ryoga breaks the silence. 

“I thought you died,” he says flatly. 

A bit of blood drips from Kaito’s mouth as he turns to Ryoga. His eyes squint at Ryoga, but as his eyebrows are unable to be moved, it was difficult to tell whether he was angry or upset. Ryoga continues to look at the floor and not at Kaito. _ He must be disgusted, just as IV had said, _thinks Kaito. 

“I...I guess I’m glad you’re still here,” mumbles Ryoga. 

“...’aunt oo die,” says Kaito. 

Ryoga looks up at him and Kaito can see the brief flicker of wariness fill his expression. 

“What?”

“I ‘aunt oo die,” says Kaito again, trying his best to enunciate what he could pronounce. 

He can see the disgust fill Christopher and Michael’s faces when they hear his attempt at speaking and another pang fills his chest. 

“You want to die?” asks Ryoga. 

“...esss,” replies Kaito, another trickle of blood dripping down his mouth. “...’m dees’us’ing…” 

Ryoga’s eyebrows furrow in concentration as he tries to decipher what Kaito said. When he is able to piece it together, a defeated expression fills his face. 

“It’s not your fault that you look like this. And I think being able to keep your voice is better than having to be seen to be heard.” 

Michael and Christopher nod in agreement. 

“Kee ee,” whispers Kaito as tears fill his eyes. 

“If I could, I would have done it a long time ago,” sighs Ryoga. “But just like the rest of us, you’re stuck.” 

“Kee ee,” says Kaito again. 

The sound of porcelain scraping against wood is heard. All attention then turns to Christopher, whose sorrowful expression appeared ghastly on his powdered face and bright red lips. _ Kaito, please, _ begs Christopher. _ It’s not your fault. _ Michael nods in agreement. _ I’m sorry you were dragged into this. _

“...You ‘ll ‘uk uh ee ‘ith dees’us..,” mumbles Kaito. 

“Yes! You’re disgusting as fuck to look at, but it isn’t your fault! Underneath all of this shit, I can still tell that you’re Kaito!” snaps Ryoga. A remorseful expression fills his face and he looks away. “And sometimes, that’s the only thing we can have here.”

Kaito turns to look at Ryoga for a few moments and then to Michael. Both are sullen, burying themselves in their own thoughts. Looking at Rio’s turned back by the window, he feels a slight pang of envy for her. At least she didn’t have to see his face. When he finally turns to Christopher, he sees that his mentor’s eyes are filled with tears. Noticing that Kaito is looking at him, Christopher says, _ If you die, I will too. _With that remark, he turns away and begins to cry on his own. Silence fills the room afterwards, with each person avoiding each other’s eyes. 

Second horrifying Kaito illustration [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1VKm6df6nvjSoPxLuHU2erEAdYbkk0KOp/view?usp=drivesdk)

All the dolls [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xmSdkUrg1XUklb9EUbfBi29luxAcvosp/view?usp=drivesdk)


	51. Still Here

Still Here

“Your dolls are so pretty! I’m so jealous mother trusted you with them..,” pouts Michael. 

“That’s because you were too young for her to show you,” retorts Thomas. “Now help me dust the shelves.”

The tower of books that Thomas was standing on trembles. Michael steps forwards in worriment. 

“Brother will be so cross if he finds out that you were using his textbooks..,” says Michael. 

“He never uses these ones. I would know,” retorts Thomas as he takes down a few dolls. 

Hopping from the book stack, he motions back to it. 

“Now go up there and dust the shelves.”

Michael looks at his brother and then down at his outfit. 

“But this is new..,” he mumbles. 

The shiny buttons of the sailor suit were so pretty. He didn’t want to ruin it, especially since their father had given it to him for his 10th birthday. 

“You have lots of clothes. Now go up there,” commands Thomas. 

Trying not to cry, Michael picks up the featherduster and stands on the books. As he dusts the shelf, he feels the stack teeter and he gulps. A puff of dust comes his way and he lets out a loud sneeze. With the sneeze, he feels the stack veer towards the floor and lets out a yelp when he falls with the stack. The tears return in his eyes, but he tries to blink them away. He couldn’t cry in front of Thomas, not when he just trusted him to join him with his dolls.  _ Crack! _

“Oh, bollocks!” curses Thomas. “Look at what you’ve done!” 

Through his tears, Michael can see the remains of a doll on the floor. That’s it. The tears pool over his cheeks. Now Thomas was angry at him and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

“S-sorry…!” sobs Michael. “I didn’t mean to…!” 

He had been so happy when Thomas invited him to play with their mother’s dolls. How could it have gone so wrong…? He lets out another sob and the hiccoughs begin to fill his chest. There’s a pause and then he feels Thomas coming towards him. 

“Michael...Michael I’m sorry. It’s okay...look..,” whispers Thomas as he comforts Michael. “Please don’t cry anymore...it was just a doll…we can fix her together. We can be doctors…” 

Thomas’s warm hug makes Michael stifle his cries. He holds Thomas closer and buries his face in his brother’s chest, breathing in his brother’s familiar scent. 

“It’s alright...it was just a doll…” 

The memory resurfaces in Michael’s mind as Thomas runs lipstick over his lips. It was just a doll. _It was just a bloody doll. _

“Purse your lips,” whispers Thomas. 

Michael does as he is told.  _ He was just a bloody doll.  _ Distantly, he hears the clock in the background.  _ Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.  _ How long has this madness lasted? He’s lost count of the days and isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. Perhaps it was a better thing to not know, as he sees no end to any of this. 

“There we are! Ready for a beautiful day,” announces Thomas as he picks Michael up. 

He makes his way downstairs and into the dining room, where the long table stretches out. It’s laden with breakfast pastries and fruit, carefully arranged. The tablecloth is spotless, white lace at its edge. All of the chair covers match the cloth, with the same spotless white lace. Seated at the table, Michael averts his eyes from his brother’s pained expression. As of late, Christopher had been more emotional than usual. He remembers just last night how his brother was constantly trying to roll off of the bed in an attempt to injure himself. Eventually, Thomas had just wiped his tears away, kissed his sobs silent and brought him into his own bedroom. This morning, there was a small bandage above Christopher’s brow. Besides that, he was as beautiful as ever. 

Next to him is Kaito, his ever present smile shining with his new set of teeth. To Michael, the smile seemed more pained. The new feeding tube is attached to an IV drip, nutrients slowly making their way into his stomach. He would like to show some sympathy towards Kaito, but he knows that would just make him angrier. Besides him is Ryoga, watching the same scene with disinterest. Or perhaps it was just that his eyelids were drooping under the weight of the thick false eyelashes. And slumped in a chair at the end of the table is Rio. Her eyes remain closed, but he sees her head turn towards any sound that she hears. With her leaden limbs, her body struggled to support itself. 

Thomas makes inane chatter as he begins to serve his dolls. Michael tunes him out and looks at his surroundings. The family photographs have been removed from the walls. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s seen one for awhile now. Various pale shapes on the walls were the only reminder that those photographs had been there. He wonders what Thomas had done to them. There’s a small hope that Thomas hadn’t disposed of them, but he knows that he did. After all, his brother wanted to no reminders that they were once human. And, no reminders that their father had existed. 

“How was last night for you, Hannah?” asks Thomas cheerfully. 

Ryoga doesn’t even blink at his new name for the day. 

“Fine,” he replies. “You?” 

“The same,” replies Thomas with a smile. 

Michael notices a tremble in Christopher’s lower lip. 

“You know, I think today we should go out to the garden. Greet the first days of winter. I hear that it’s going to be a cold one this year,” says Thomas. 

“No wonder every morning my joints ache,” mutters Ryoga. “Could you turn up the heat? At this rate, we’re going to have snow.” 

“But if it’s too hot, our skin gets little cracks,” says Thomas. “I don’t want that. Mrs. Arclight would absolutely despise that too. She’s quite vain about her complexion, as you’re aware of.”

When Thomas focuses his attention back to Ryoga, Kaito gives an eye roll that brings a small smile to Christopher and Michael’s face. 

“But maybe you should turn it up a few degrees in the morning. I don’t want us to get sick,” suggests Ryoga. “Rio gets cold easily and I’m worried about her.” 

At the mention of her name, Rio looks towards Ryoga. There’s a slight shift in Thomas’s expression. Michael notices the shift and exchanges a look with Christopher. Thomas despised it whenever their real names were used. Turning his attention back to Rio, Michael reads her lips and tries to ignore the fact that her empty glass eyes were open.  _ I can take care of myself, thank you,  _ mouths Rio.  _ But yes, it’s quite cold in the morning.  _

All attention turns back to Thomas.  _ Yes, it’s cold,  _ mouths Michael.  _ I agree,  _ adds Christopher. 

“Col..,” mumbles Kaito through his glued teeth. 

After a moment of contemplation, Thomas lets out a sigh. 

“Alright. I’ll make it warmer for us,” he concedes.

Everyone’s shoulder relaxes as Thomas finishes his breakfast and stands up to feed them. This was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. And they would take any victory they could. It alleviated the feeling of helplessness they all felt for a moment, a brief reminder that their voices still mattered. That they were still human, who felt, breathed and lived.


	52. Father

Father

The blue world glowed and shimmered, exuding calm. Just being in the pure world felt cleansing to him, the corruption in his body slowly seeping away. As of late, he had begun to feel emotions again. At first, it was a dull ache. Eventually, it had grown into a gaping hole. Finally, he was able to feel longing and desire. It was the painful sort of longing that ate at his heart and brought tears to his eyes before bed. Unlike the longing he had previously felt that burned with hatred and fueled his every action, this longing merely tugged at his heart. 

He had brought only one photograph of his family with him and already, he had rubbed their faces blurry with his tears and fingers. It had felt so good to be able to cry again, the tears falling down cheeks that hadn’t seen tears for more than a decade. Soon, he would be able to come home to their smiling faces. Hug each one of them in his true body and able to see them eye-to-eye instead of looking up at them. He wonders what they are doing right now and smiles as he remembers how beautifully Christopher had played the piano. Michael was most likely studying right now, a mountain of books messily spread about the dinner table. And Thomas...well, he was always unpredictable. 

The thought brings a small smile to Byron’s face as he remembers his son and a twinge of regret. Now able to think clearly again, he knows that he had never treated Thomas correctly as Tron. Thomas deserved love and he hadn’t given him it. When he comes home, he will be the first person he will hold. No apology would be enough for Thomas, but he could try to be a better father. It was the least he could do for his poor son. 

“You are missing them again?” asks a female voice from behind him.

Byron turns around and is met with a glowing set of eyes. Ena’s blue skin and benevolent smile had seemed eerie to him at first, but he had eventually warmed to her. 

“Yes,” he replies quietly. 

“We could feel your...emotions...coming off of you like a wave. It is an unfamiliar feeling for us,” says Ena. “When will it stop?”

Byron gives her a lopsided smile. Astral beings had ascended such things as emotions and he pitied them for that. 

“When you are human, you can never truly stop having emotions,” he replies quietly.

There’s a shift in Ena’s expression. 

“What can we do to make it less?” 

There’s a pause as Byron contemplates. Ena continues to stare at him with her unflinching eyes. After a moment of contemplation, Byron looks to her hopefully.

“A correspondence, perhaps? To the human world where my sons are?” he ventures. 

Ena frowns, ever so slightly. 

“And then will your emotions stop being so...intense?” 

“Perhaps.” 

The Astral being stares at Byron for a few moments, every part of her extremely still. Unease creeps up Byron’s back until she turns and begins to walk away.

“I will try to find a messenger. Please create your correspondence while I go.”

As he watches her leave, Byron feels warmth well up his chest. He takes a postcard from his pocket and a pen. The postcard featured a tropical beach with flowers strewn across the white sand. On a whim, he had purchased the postcard in a rundown store before he had left for Astral World, intending for it to be a reminder of the joys of the human world. Resting the piece of paper against the clear crystal, he feels it ripple as he’s about to write and pulls his pen back. Anything from Astral World tended to have a dislike of human objects. When the ripple ceases, Byron takes in a deep breath and stares at the brief lines in front of him. There weren’t enough lines for all of the emotions he had felt, yet this would have to do. 

Once he is done, he walks over to a cabinet and opens it. An antique polaroid camera strewn with photographs stares back at him. After selecting a few to include with the postcard, he then takes the camera and steps back. Making sure he has an optimal amount of light, he takes the camera and aims the lens at himself. Pressing the button, it takes all of his self control to not blink as the flash shines in his face. He rests the camera on the shelf and waits patiently for the photograph to come out. When he sees the murky beginnings of his photograph begin to arrive, he gently allows it to rest for a few moments and returns to his postcard. Already, he had gone off of the lines. Sighing, he squishes in the margins:  _ P.S: I hope to come home soon.  _

Placing the pen back in his pocket, he hears the doors open again. Taking his new photograph, he gathers up the rest of the items he intends to send and walks towards Ena. With each step, he feels the longing decrease. He could almost imagine coming home and feeling his sons’ strong arms around him.


	53. The Dreamer Wakes

The Dreamer Wakes

The newspaper headlines were abuzz about Heartland’s mayoral elections. It had been weeks since he had seen an article speculating the Kamishiro twins’ disappearances on the front page. As the world continued without them, they had soon become a relic of the past. They might as well have been dead. Occasionally, Thomas would see a small article in the back of the paper on Yuma and the Barians requesting for help on their search, but he knew that it was a lost cause. 

Placing the newspaper and the rest of the mail on the table, a faded envelope catches Thomas’s eye. It must have been an envelope that was personally placed. There was no return address nor stamp and Thomas frowns at the envelope’s anonymity. He sets it aside and sifts through the other mail. Bills, the usual fan letters, advertisements and invitations to parties that he would never go to make up the stack. Thomas tosses the advertisements and invitations into the recycling and puts the bills in a drawer. He pockets the fan letters and refocuses his attention on the envelope. Taking a letter opener from the cabinet, he cuts open the envelope and takes out the largest piece of paper first. 

A postcard featuring a tropical beach stares back at him. It must have been an advertisement for a vacation club, judging from the pristinely white sand and gorgeous tropical flowers strewn about. About to toss it away, the back of the postcard catches his eye. His heart skips a beat when he sees the familiar handwriting. In blue pen, the unmistakable elegant cursive brought forth a wave of nostalgia and fear. The words were written incredibly small, a sign that the writer was trying to fit as much as they could in the small space provided.

_ I’m in Astral World, trying to fix my body. I miss all of you so much, now that I can feel again. Thomas, please remind Chris to prune the trees. He needs to get some sunlight. Remind Michael to keep up on his studies (You probably won’t need to. _ But sometimes he gets too absorbed... _ ). And continue taking good care of your mother’s dolls. Know that we both love you with all of our hearts. Especially me. I’m so proud of you, Thomas. _

_ Your loving father, _

_ Byron Arclight _

In the margins, Thomas sees an additional note.

_ P.S I hope to come home soon. _

Staring blankly at the postcard, he realizes that his hands are shaking. Trying to take in a deep breath, the air catches in his throat and his throat makes a small hiccuping noise. Picking up the envelope, he looks inside and his heartbeat increases when he sees more. He gently pours the rest of the contents onto the counter. Polaroid photographs shimmer in the afternoon sun and he slowly looks at each one. One featured blue towers in a desert of aquamarine sand. Another featured bright red crystal flowers in a field of similarly-colored sand. The third had blurry and glowing figures that he supposes must be Astral beings. 

The final one is flipped over and he hesitantly turns it around. It takes awhile for him to process the image and when he does, he jumps back. The blood roars into his ears and he is unable to hear anything else. Those golden eyes that were filled with love. That calm smile. The honey-colored locks that he had once loved running his fingers through. And the gaping abyss that once covered half of his father’s face now only covered the edges. He could see that it was receding away, seemingly taking all the reminders of hell away with it. But at this point, he realizes that he has come to expect that that face would never come back. Now, with its return, he feels...numb. 

As if it was just a bad dream. _ I hope to come home soon. _ His father’s words make him shift uncomfortably. The shaking returns and he looks down at the postcard again. _ Love you...proud of you... _ such words are unfamiliar to him after being abused for so long. The urge to scream is overwhelming. _ Remind Chris to prune the trees. He needs to get some sunlight. _ His pale brother had always been too bookish, according to their father. Unlike Byron, who was a mixture of athletics and studying, Christopher had always been purely scholarly. _ Chris. _ The name written in their father’s handwriting brings forth a wave of emotions. _ Michael. _Another wave followed. Nausea fills Thomas’s chest and he runs to the sink. 

But nothing comes out. _ Michael. _ His younger brother who was like their father in his youth. Physically active and also a scholar. He was in the second year of earning his degree, a bright future ahead of him. Always the favorite because he was respectful and gentle. _ Michael. _ The young child he had held close as they had slept for the first time after being abandoned by Chris. Now he had grown into a fine young man of 19 years old, bound to become a great success in life. _ Michael. _ Thomas’s breaths have come into short gasps and the world begins to spin. With his shaking hands, he gathers the postcard and Byron’s photograph. _ Michael. Christopher. Love. Proud. Home. _The words swim in his vision and he stifles a sob. 

He sees them laughing together in the garden and his breath tightens. His hands have grown clammy. Struggling to take in deep breaths, Thomas drags himself into the living room, where he is met by the eerie tableau. _ His _eerie tableau. Christopher sits in front of the piano, porcelain hands resting above the keys. Not a single sound is uttered from the ivory keys. Michael and Ryoga sit facing each other, their teacups untouched. The apple slices have oxidized and are the color of mud. Standing next to the table is Kaito, a tea service in his hands, his blood stained teeth a terrifying sight against his lips. Even after all of those weeks, his gums still haven’t stopped bleeding completely. Self-disgust wells up in Thomas’s chest, but he forces himself to approach Michael first. 

Dull green eyes slowly follow his shaky movements. Michael’s eyebrows soon furrow in worry. _ What’s wrong? _he mouths. The show of concern sends a pang through Thomas’s heart. Even like this, Michael was attuned to Thomas’s emotions.

“Father says he’s coming back,” breathes Thomas as he shows Michael the postcard and the photograph. 

_ Dong. _The sound of porcelain limbs sliding off of piano keys is heard. All attention turns to Christopher as he edges his torso away from the piano in surprise. His head is turned attentively to Thomas, intensity burning in his eyes. His burning expression now only causes guilt to flare up in Thomas’s heart. If Christopher still had all of his body parts, he would have immediately rushed over and demanded to be the first one to see the letter. As the person who merely brought in the mail, Thomas would be forced to obey. Yet this Christopher merely stared at him with his burning eyes, powerless to do anything else. The sight forms a lump in Thomas’s throat.

Once Michael is finished reading the postcard and viewing the photograph, tears well up in his eyes. Thomas embraces him and feels the tears also fill his eyes. _ His poor brother. _ It’s eerie, how warm the middle of his body is and how cold his limbs are. He runs his hands down Michael’s back in an attempt to soothe him. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

A shuddery breath answers him. Thomas pulls away and wipes Michael’s tears off of his cheeks. 

“What have I done...?” he continues, looking around the room. “What the hell have I done…?” 

“A lot,” mutters Ryoga from across the table. “And a stupid apology isn’t going to fix any of this.” 

Thomas turns around and looks at his friend’s haggard face. His cheekbones are jutting through his pale skin and dark circles surround his eyes. Ryoga’s carefully plucked eyebrows are pinched in anger and his lips are formed into a frown. Yet all Thomas could do was pity his expression. Immediately, Ryoga turns away when he sees Thomas’s pity-filled face. He curls his lips and grits his teeth. 

“You did this to me. There’s no one to pity but yourself,” snaps Ryoga. “Especially for what you did to Rio.” 

Silenced by Ryoga’s sharp words, Thomas slowly picks up the postcard and photograph. With hesitant steps, he walks up to Christopher. This was no longer a doll that he could treat as he pleased. This was his elder brother, furious and disapproving of his actions. Swallowing hard, he sits down next to Christopher and wrinkles his nose at the powdery smell that emanated from him. Why did he insist on doing such things, when such a flowery scent was so jarring against his senses? _ For accuracy, of course _ , a small voice says. _ The queen needed to be pale and beautiful. _Pushing the voice out of his head, Thomas shows Christopher the postcard. His brother’s quick eyes scan the cursive handwriting, blue eyes darting back and forth. 

He rereads the postcard a few times, a slight tremble in his lips. When his eyes rest on the photograph, a single tear makes its way down his face. _ What will father say to all of this? _asks Christopher silently.

“I don’t know,” murmurs Thomas. “I’m so sorry.” 

Christopher’s mouth turns into a thin line, the anger returning. Looking at his brother’s expression for an indeterminate amount of time, Thomas feels the tears rushing to his eyes. He wants Christopher to hit him. He wants Christopher to scream at him for what he did. He wants Christopher to loom over him and stare him down with his icy glare. He wants Christopher to be his older brother again. But all Christopher did was look at him with his furious expression that only he knew how to recognize. The glare wasn’t even there, as Christopher was beyond angry. Before he bursts into tears, he pulls Christopher into a tight embrace. He sobs into Christopher’s shoulders, holding tighter onto the porcelain limbs. 

“Oh, Chris...what the hell have I done…?!” whispers Thomas. 

There is no reply, but he can feel everyone’s contemptuous glares at him. He runs his fingers through Christopher’s hair, trying to undo the curls. He pulls so roughly that the wig falls off, revealing Christopher’s bare head. Still, his real hair hasn’t grown back yet and the sight makes Thomas feel even more guilty of his actions. Everyone must have been lacking so much in nutrition and energy. Holding Christopher even harder, he buries his face in Christopher’s shoulders and takes in a deep breath. Nothing but the sickly sweet powdery scent fills his nose. Before, his brother had always used a bit of cologne. How he misses that smell!

Spending a few moments breathing in the smell of powder and wetting the shoulder of Christopher’s dress with his tears, an idea slowly blooms in Thomas’s mind. Slowly pulling away, he looks up at Christopher’s face. It’s then that he realizes that Christopher had also been crying. Wiping his brother’s tears away, Thomas gives him a wavering smile. 

“I’ve thought up of a solution. It’ll be as if this was all a bad dream soon. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow will be the finale. Thank you for coming on this journey with me and I hope you have enjoyed your stay here. Your nightmares thank you.


	54. One Last Tea Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the downwards slope begins...

One Last Tea Party

The smell of all sorts of teas wafted about the room. There was Michael’s favorite chamomile, Christopher’s preferred lavender tea, Rio’s requested jasmine, Ryoga’s choice of peppermint and Kaito’s presumed black tea, put through a tube. Since Kaito had no means of properly communicating, Thomas was forced to second guess. So far, Kaito hadn’t shown his displeasure and Thomas assumed that he had chosen well. Everyone was still dressed in the clothes Thomas had purchased for them as they were no longer able to fit into their old clothes, much to his sadness. Their faces are still made up, as he still could not bear seeing their gaunt cheeks and dark circles for too long. 

He adds sugar, honey and milk to each person’s tea at their request. Then starting with Michael, he lifts the cup to his brother’s lips. He waits for Michael to finish off the entire cup, just like at the beginning of this nightmare. Guilt fills his chest when he remembers and he slowly pulls the cup away from Michael’s lips when he’s finished. Next came Christopher. Then Ryoga. And finally, Rio. Looking at Kaito’s amount of tea left, he sees that it is halfway through and gives him a small smile. Sitting back in his seat, Thomas pours himself a cup of saffron tea. It had been the last bag, stored at the back of the pantry. He had been saving it for a special occasion and supposes that this was the closest it would get. 

Taking a bit of honey and sugar, he stirs his tea around and then lifts the cup, as if making a toast. 

“Thank you for coming to our last tea party,” he begins. 

“We didn’t have a choice,” mutters Ryoga. 

Thomas sits down and gives Ryoga a tired smile. 

“You’ll soon be able to put this all behind you,” reassures Thomas. “I just want to have a final close to this.”

“Don’t we all,” sighs Ryoga as he rolls his eyes.

“I know none of you will forgive me for what I’ve done. But please know that I regret everything,” says Thomas. 

He takes a sip of his tea and turns to Michael. He forces himself to smile as he sees Michael’s drooping eyelids and small, peaceful smile. 

“Michael, please know that I love you and that I...I’m sorry,” chokes Thomas as the tears begin to threaten to spill over. 

Then he turns to Christopher. Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and looks into his brother’s blue eyes, already beginning to glaze over. 

“Chris…”

A brief moment of clarity fills Christopher’s expression when he slightly glares at Thomas. Even when they were younger, his brother had only approved of his father and Kaito calling him Chris. Abashed, Thomas clears his throat and starts over. 

“I’m sorry for all of the...horrors I put you through, brother. You’ll never forgive me, I know. And that’s understandable. I was never the brother you wanted and...it’s just...I spent most of my life trying. But then I thought that I didn’t need you. And that was where I went wrong,” confesses Thomas. 

He sees an exhausted expression fill Christopher’s face. And then a small nod. Not wanting to see the empty expression resume its place on his brother’s face, Thomas faces Ryoga. 

“Ryoga—”

“If you think some fucking apology is going to fix all of this, then you’re wrong. Don’t even say anything to me or my sister,” snaps Ryoga. 

Adding onto her brother, Rio turns her head away when Thomas turns to her. Taking in a deep breath, Thomas turns towards Kaito. His frozen expression doesn’t betray a single emotion, but when Thomas looks at him, Kaito’s eyes immediately bore into his.

“Kaito—”

“Die,” utters Kaito through his frozen smile.

Once again, Thomas turns to look at Michael. His brother’s eyes have completely closed, the small smile still on his lips. He tries not to cry and looks at Christopher. Like Michael, his eyes have closed. But his final expression is not one of peace. His lips are in a straight line, slightly bent downwards at the tips. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, as if he was just disturbed from a nap. Yet Thomas knows that he would never awaken again. Besides him, Ryoga is slumped against his seat. Thomas knows that he is struggling to keep his eyes open, but even so, Ryoga is able to curl his lips and hiss out one last sentence. 

“I fell for that one, didn’t I? I deserve it this time, but when I see you in hell, you’re going to get what you’ve been deserving,” he promises. 

With Ryoga’s eyes closing, his face is frozen into a frown. Thomas supposes that it’s fitting. Turning to his twin, he starts at the ferocity in her expression. Her glass eyes are open, the magenta pupils staring through him. Unlike Ryoga’s curled lips, her mouth is formed into a full-blown grimace, both rows of her teeth exposed. Wrinkles fill her forehead from her heavily furrowed eyebrows. The sound of her gritted teeth fill the silent room and Thomas shivers. He stares at her for the longest time, unsure of when she stopped breathing. Hesitantly, he turns away from her, almost expecting her to leap from the table and strangle him to death. When he sees Kaito’s sleepy expression, he almost sighs with relief. Although it seemed like a grotesque imitation of a sleazy smile, it was better than Rio’s expression. 

“Die,” utters Kaito once again through his glued teeth. 

One of the only words he could say. 

“Die,” he hisses again. 

Thomas continues to look at Kaito until his eyes close and his breathing stops. Throughout that entire time, he had been uttering the same word again and again. Sighing, Thomas pulls his chair away and picks up Michael’s still body. One last insult to his father, using his sleeping medicine like that. When he was younger, his father had warned him that his sleeping tonic was to be only used in small amounts. Used in large amounts, one would sleep forever. He never expected to use that knowledge, but here he was, the blood of five people on his hands to add to his pile of sins. 

Making his way into the basement, he looks at the empty walls and feels a wave of sadness wash over him. He walks down the steps and into the cold air of his second workshop. The lights turn on, revealing tubes and tubes of limbs preserved in formaldehyde. How pristine they looked, frozen in time like that. Walking into the back of the workshop, he is faced by five smooth boxes. He had spent three nights and three days working on them, elegantly carved with everyone’s names on silver plates. He places Michael into the one with his name on it and admires his brother for a few moments. How peaceful he looked amidst the silver cushions. He gives his brother a kiss on his forehead and allows a tear to fall onto Michael’s pink cheek. 

Even now he can hear Michael’s lovely voice, cheering him on. What he wouldn’t give to have Michael’s love again. 

When it’s Christopher’s turn to be placed inside his box, Thomas does it with the utmost care. He rearranges the curls on the wig and makes sure that the jewelry lays smooth. His brother’s body was already becoming cold, much to his dismay. Giving Christopher one last look before he goes back upstairs, he holds back his tears as a memory from their youth resurfaces. 

For once, they had agreed on something. Christopher had sat next to him at the dinner table, teaching him how to duel. He had enjoyed every moment of it, caught up in Christopher’s gentle tone and bright eyes. He remembers how warm Christopher was, with his body next to his. The fire was merrily burning while the snow fell outside. Michael sat on Christopher’s other side and was just as amazed as Thomas was. At the end of the day, Christopher had ruffled Thomas’s hair and laughed. 

“You have the makings of a great duelist,” he said proudly. 

His blue eyes were twinkling when he had said that. Christopher’s beautiful smile had filled Thomas’s mind until he went to bed. He had went to bed thinking that Christopher was actually quite beautiful when he wanted to be. He supposes that was when he first began to realize that Christopher wasn’t always the grumpy and sour-faced scholar he had supposed him to be. Christopher could be kind and compassionate too..._ Oh, how did it end up like this…? _

Returning to Ryoga, sadness fills Thomas’s heart when he sees his friend’s still expression. He had once been so lively. Gently picking him up, he hears Ryoga’s limbs creak in protest. It was as if they knew what was going to happen next and Thomas pressed his lips into a firm line. It had to be done, even if it would make his father sad. He looks at the barren walls and once again regrets burning the family photographs. He had been so intent on erasing everyone’s humanity that he had erased his own in the process. Or, he had lost his humanity years ago when Tron ruled over him. As he makes his way down the steps, a small voice whispers in his mind. _ Two more to go. And then the grand finale. _

Laying Ryoga to rest, Thomas looks down mournfully at his friend. They had both deserved better lives. He makes his way upstairs, each echoing step resounding with his heart. When he approaches Rio, fear fills his chest. What if when he picks her up, she bites his face off? Perhaps she had somehow survived. But he had seen her drink the tea, her throat bobbing up and down. _ Her eyes are still open. _Glass eyes he had once thought were beautiful now seemed chilling. They never moved, yet still seemed to follow him wherever he went. With shaking fingers, he closes her eyes. When she doesn’t move in reply, Thomas swallows hard and picks her up. Fear overtakes his body as he begins to move. She could move any moment and bite his ear off. 

His heart rate begins to accelerate and he quickens his speed. 

“She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead..,” chants Thomas under his breath as he makes his way down the halls. 

When her leaden limb brushes against his leg, he nearly screams and drops her. After he realizes that it was just her limb, he sighs with relief. _ She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s fucking dead. She’s fucking dead, _he repeats over and over again. It’s then that he realizes that he still fears her. He quickly goes down the steps and puts her in her box. Without giving her another look, he runs upstairs and up to Kaito. 

Still smiling with his eyes closed, Kaito seemed to enjoy dying. But Thomas knew that was far from the truth. Had Kaito been able to move his face, his expression would have rivalled that of Rio’s. Picking him up and carrying him out of the dining room, Thomas feels a pit of dread form at the base of his stomach. _ But I have to do it, _ he thinks resolutely. _ It’s the only way this can end. _As he walks down the stairs to the basement, the feeling of dread continues to grow. His footsteps seem to echo louder against the concrete floor this time, as if his footsteps wished to make their final imprints in this room. 

When he places Kaito in his box, Thomas steps back and looks at the scene he has created. All five bodies, resting in boxes that resembled coffins. It was like a funeral. _ A funeral for dolls. _ He steps towards Michael’s box and runs his fingers across the nameplate. In elegant cursive, _ Rose _is engraved onto the silver plate with elegant flourishes. With his hand on the lid, Thomas strokes Michael’s face one last time. 

“Goodnight, Rose,” whispers Thomas. 

Going to Christopher’s box, he gives him one last sorrow filled glance and closes the lid. 

“Goodnight, my queen,” breathes Thomas. 

Reaching Ryoga’s box, tears fill his eyes. 

“Goodnight, Lola.”

His pleasure doll’s final name. Closing the lid, he rests his hand on the surface for a while and closes his eyes. _ Soon. _

When he reaches Rio’s box, he bows his head as he closes her lid. 

“Goodnight, my marionette.” 

A small part of him still believes that she would pop open the lid and strangle him to death. Giving the lid one last look, he slowly walks towards Kaito’s box after the lid remains still for a few more moments. Looking down at Kaito’s smile, his eyes trail to the nameplate. Throughout this nightmare, Kaito must have been living in a personal hell of his own. From Chrisopher’s description of him, Kaito had never been one to smile much. As he closes the lid, his eyes remain focused on Kaito’s forced smile and pristine teeth. 

“Goodnight, Mrs. Arclight.” 

Blinking his tears away, he looks at the row of boxes ahead of him. Allowing a few moments of silence, he runs his eyes across the sturdy build of the boxes one last time. Surely, they would survive. _ Surely. _ Stepping towards the front of his workshop, he sees the shelf ahead of him and braces himself. _ Now. _

The canisters of gasoline stare at him and he swallows hard. He takes all of them off the shelf, hugging them to his body. He makes his way up the stairs, slightly worried that one of the canisters would fall. With each step he takes, the pit of dread grows. He’ll never see his lovely dolls again. But he needed to do this, or else their father will return home and hate him. He never wants to see those golden eyes gleam with hatred for him again. Once he reaches the ground floor, he sets down the canisters, not caring if they tumbled from his arms. Before he closes the basement door behind him, he looks at the five boxes wistfully. A small part of him hopes that someone will take them out and play with them again, but he knows that leaving them to be forgotten was better. _ Click. _He locks the basement door and bends down to pick up the first canister of gasoline.

Unscrewing the lid, he wrinkles his nose at the acrid smell. _ You have to do this. _Without another moment of hesitation, he proceeds to empty the canister around the first floor, walking through the halls and looking at them forlornly. Outside the window, a bit of snow has begun to fall. Childhood memories fill his mind and before he knows it, he has emptied the first canister. Going back and grabbing the second canister, he heads into the kitchen and opens up the oven. He puts a liberal amount of gasoline inside the oven and turns the oven on. With the remaining amount of gasoline, he pours it across the dining table and the china cabinet. He looks at the lace covered in gasoline and sighs. That had been his mother’s favorite. 

Running back to the gasoline canisters, he grabs the next one. As he walks up the stairs, he pours the gasoline on the steps, soaking into the ivory carpeting. He splashes the remaining gasoline at the head of the stairs and down the halls. Coming downstairs, he grabs the final two canisters and makes his final descent upstairs. The next-to-last canister is quickly emptied in Christopher, Michael, Byron and his bedrooms. Returning to the last canister, he realizes that the pit of dread in his stomach has dissipated. He knew what he had to do. With the final canister, he pours its contents into the dolls’ dressing rooms. More than half of the canister remained when he was finished, just as he had planned. 

_ I’m sorry, mother, _ he thinks as he enters the doll room. _ It has to be done. _He splashes the floor and curtains of his mother’s favorite room with gasoline. The acrid smell has disappeared from his senses. Looking down at the remaining contents of the canister, he closes his eyes as he empties the gasoline on his head. The liquid is surprisingly cold as it soaks his clothes and slides down his skin. From his pocket, he fishes out a box of matches. Striking a flame, he drops it into the puddle of gasoline at his feet and watches the flames grow with morbid fascination. With another lit match, he sets it on his gasoline-soaked sleeve and the fire immediately spreads across his body. 

Looking out the window, he sees that the snow is falling even faster now. With a peaceful smile, he closes his eyes and falls into the flames. The last thing he thinks of are his dolls, tucked in their boxes and sleeping peacefully, awaiting to be rediscovered.


	55. Powerless

Powerless

Yuma sees the smoke before anyone else. He breaks into a running pace and points at the smoke. The barians behind him hurry their pace. Sirens fill the air and before they reach the Arclight mansion, they are held back by yellow tape. 

“What’s going on?!” demands Durbe. 

“Sir, please calm down. We are currently putting out the fire,” says a fireman. “All we know is that there’s been an explosion.”

“We heard the sound on our way to visit IV Arclight. Is the explosion serious?” asks Mizael. 

The fireman shakes his head and sighs. 

“If anyone was in there, they wouldn’t have survived.”

Yuma steps back, trying to see the flames. Even amidst the snow, he could see an orangish glow in the distance. He swallows hard and feels Alit hold his hand reassuringly. 

“Is there anything we can do?” asks Gilag.

“Go home and watch for the nightly news,” the fireman replies grimly. 

“But…”

“I’m sorry, but as of now, there’s nothing you can do.”


	56. His Legacy

His Legacy

“There’s something over here,” calls one of the firemen as he makes his way down the burnt steps. 

He is soon followed by a few of his teammates. As they make their way into what remains of the basement, they can see broken jars of preserved specimens. The fire had ravaged its way through most of the specimens, leaving only bones. One of the firemen crouches down and looks closely at the bones scattered amidst the broken glass. After a few moments, he stands up and looks at his teammates grimly. Their backs are turned to him, closely focused over a set of five large boxes in the corner. The fire had barely affected the boxes, leaving only a few scorch marks on the shiny surface. 

“I think these are human remains,” announces the fireman with the bones. 

His friend looks back at him. 

“Those could have been from their private collection. But there’s something about these boxes.”

Snow has began to dust the ruins of the basement, as if cleansing the fire’s ravages. They work together to clear away the debris on the boxes, careful to make sure that they don’t damage the surface. They heave away a large piece of wood and turn back to the box. Exchanging looks with the rest of their teammates, they nod and lift the lid together. There isn’t much resistance and the lid soon rises. The team gathers around the box, transfixed by the contents. A lifelike doll lies in the velvet cushions, long lashes brushing its pink cheeks. Its lips seemed as if they were about to come to life and speak and its body about to sit up on its own. _ Rose  _ was engraved on the metal plate beneath its feet, the words surrounded by carved roses. A moment of stillness fills the group. Slowly, two of them break away from the gathering and proceed to lift the lids off of the other boxes. 

Similar dolls of the same quality lay in the remaining four boxes. Their plates ranged from names to titles, with some only known as  _ The Queen  _ and  _ The Marionette.  _ The whole team steps back, transfixed by the craftsmanship. That is, until a few of them began to realize that the dolls’ faces looked familiar. The silence has turned uncomfortable, each person waiting for the other to point out the fact. The youngest recruit slowly steps forwards and looks at the dolls one last time. She swallows hard and turns back to her team.

“I don’t think these are dolls,” she says. 

Slowly taking off her glove, she hesitantly touches one of the dolls’ faces. The flesh was cold, but she could tell that it was flesh. Immediately, she pulls back her hand. Looking back at the disbelieving faces of her team, she purses her lips and touches a hand.  _ Plastic.  _ She moves onto the other dolls, touching each of their faces and limbs. Although the material for the limbs varied, the faces were always the same.  _ Cold flesh.  _ Returning to her place, she puts her glove back on and takes in a deep breath. Then she looks at the front of the room, where the bones remained. Even from here, she could see a part of a femur. The silence still prevails and she can feel the tension from her team. She looks up at the snow trailing onto the floor in flurries, as if she could find an answer there. Her breath billows into a cloud. Looking back down at everyone, she prepares herself for a long night.

“We’re going to need to report this,” she breathes. “These are...human.”

“So...they were here the entire time..?” asks one of her teammates timidly. 

The question remains unanswered as the leader of their team proceeds to call the authorities. In the distance, they can hear the buzzing of the media. As much as they would like to keep this incident under wraps, sooner or later the public would know. And it would be a story Heartland City would never forget. 


	57. As the Rest of the World Watches

As the Rest of the World Watches

Everyone’s dinner is left untouched, much to Haruna and Mirai’s chagrin. Gathered around the television was Yuma, Akari and the Barians, intensely focused on the screen. Akari’s headset flashes and she nods. 

“Yes, I’ll make sure the article’s done by tomorrow morning. I’m currently waiting for the fire department to call back on the details. For now, I’m watching the news,” says Akari through her headset. After a pause, she nods once more. “That’s a good idea. I’ll see you later.”

Clicking the headset off, she sets it down just in time for the news to begin. The news reporter is immaculately dressed, not a single hair out of place. She begins with the weather, noting that the snow this year is forecasted to be abnormally high, especially in the countryside. Her words goes through everyone’s ears. Akari taps her fingers on the coffee table impatiently while Vector rapidly rocks his knees. 

“...at noon, a massive fire broke out in Heartland’s downtown residential district. The house has been confirmed to be the Arclight residence, home to Asia duel champion IV.”

Immediately, everyone straightens their backs and focuses all of their attention on the screen. IV’s face appears on the screen, followed by footage of him speaking to the authorities a few months ago.

“Caught amidst the disappearances of his brothers and the Kamishiro twins, the star had receded into his family home as of late. Although he had vehemently defended his innocence, the bodies of the missing Kamishiro twins, his younger brother Michael Arclight, his older brother Christopher Arclight and the body of Tenjo Kaito were discovered among the remains of the burning house. Along with that, the speculated remains of Thomas Arclight were also discovered, although it is currently being confirmed by authorities as the body was found severely burnt.”

Silence fills the room. Even Vector has stopped bouncing his knees. Grief fills everyone’s expressions. It didn’t feel real. Durbe slumps in his seat as the reporter drones on, the faces of his king and priestess filling his mind. Mizael’s tears begin to run down his cheeks when he sees Kaito’s face across the screen. Gilag pulls Alit into a hug and the both of them begin to softly murmur reassurances to each other. Yuma exchanges a look with Vector and then the two look away. 

“...Yuma...I’m so sorry..,” murmurs Akari. 

“We were so close..,” whispers Yuma. “Had we just come over a few days earlier…”

His older sister pats his shoulder and then gives it a firm squeeze. 

“Don’t beat yourself up over this. None of us knew that this would have happened,” she tells him firmly. 

“...do you think they suffered..?” whispers Vector amidst the ensuing silence, his uncharacteristic question causing everyone to look at him.

Silence fills the room until Durbe wipes his own tears away. 

“We’ll probably never know. The dead have no mouths to speak,” he says quietly. Looking outside at the falling snow, he continues. “But we now have closure, whether we like it or not.”


	58. Presents for the Children

Presents for the Children

He walks through the snow, relishing the coolness against his skin. His sons had loved to play in the snow when they were younger. Right now, they were most likely inside, pursuing more “adult” interests. Perhaps he could open the door and surprise them, completely unannounced. Better than a Christmas present, better than a New Year’s surprise. January was a dreary month, with no remarkable holiday to speak of. It would make his arrival even more welcome, he supposes. 

Byron catches his reflection in a store mirror and smiles. He truly was back. Everything, from his face to his body was the same as it had been a decade ago. It felt so  _ right,  _ walking through the streets as a respected member of society instead of an oddity. Bits of snow catch in his hair and his smile widens as an idea fills his mind. Perhaps he should purchase some presents and arrive like old Saint Nicholas. Wouldn’t that be quite the surprise? 

A brief thought fills his mind, causing his smile to momentarily fade.  _ What if his children didn’t want him to come home?  _ Would he be chased out like a wolf from a chicken’s coop? But they should at least let him apologize. Yes. And then he could go on his way. If they wouldn’t accept the presents, then perhaps he could keep them to remind him of them. Just seeing them one more time would help alleviate the pain in his heart. Yes. Just one more time, if they hated him. After all, he fixed his body mainly for them. But hopefully, they would welcome him back with open arms. Things had been awkward with him as Tron, but he could sense that deep down, they still loved and respected him as their father. His departure must have shaken all of them deeply. His return with his restored body would bring them joy, most likely.

Now, what to get his sons? The streets at this time of day were vacant, the storefronts lining the street seeming almost abandoned. An antique store was behind him, next to a music store and a flower store. All three were almost empty. The holiday season had long gone, replaced by a season of gloom. Looking inside the antique store window, he knows immediately what to get for Thomas. With its large, doe eyes, the doll looks at him with hope. Its dark chocolate curls compliment its sunny yellow dress and Byron smiles when he notices a small puppy in its hands. Looking across the street, a gift store boasts of a majestic map depicting the Amazon rainforest, complete with the ancient cities inside.  _ Michael would definitely like that.  _

_ And for Christopher… _ The music store next door could have something for him. Perhaps a book of modern piano music. He remembers how when he was young, Christopher had often practiced playing modern pop songs in secret instead of his instructor’s preferred classical lessons. When Byron had discovered him playing a rendition of a song that had been recently topping the charts, Christopher had blushed profusely and stammered out an excuse.  _ “I...I’m only doing this in order to compare it to the brilliant compositions of Beethoven. Modern music lacks taste and soul compared to his works.”  _ From then on, Christopher became more careful whenever he snuck out to practice in secret. 

In the distance, Byron sees Heartland Tower and gets another idea. After seeing his sons, he could go and surprise Faker. Perhaps he could play the role of the spirit seeking vengeance until Faker fell on his knees and begged for forgiveness. Maybe even give him a heart attack. The thought of scaring his friend brings a perverse sense of joy in Byron’s chest. At that spark of joy, he supposes that Tron will never truly dissipate from him. Tron had always been a small part of him, deep down, even when he was young. Playing supposedly harmless pranks on people and watching their reactions always did bring him a rush of joy. Even when they were frightened.  _ Oh, especially when they were frightened.  _ Yes...the first prank of his triumphant return. Byron stifles a smile and looks at the snowy sky. He watches his breath billow in the air for a bit and wonders what Faker was doing right now. Will he ever repair his relationship with Kaito?

Only the top of Heartland Tower twinkles in reply. 

With all of his plans thought out, Byron enters the antique shop with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Everything was going to be perfect. He’s mostly sure that his sons have been awaiting his return ever since he sent the postcard. He can’t wait to feel their warm embraces and see their smiles. And hear their voices. Yes, that was the thing he missed the most. All he wants to hear is “Father, welcome home,” and be held by their warm, strong arms again. With that thought, he picks up the porcelain doll and looks at its features. If one looked at it closely, its expression carried an air of melancholy, as if pitying someone. Most definitely, Thomas would love such an expressive doll. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my story. This was the result of 5 predecessors. Every time I wrote a freaky doll story, it always seemed as if something was missing. I repeated the process five times and this was the sixth result. For once, I was satisfied with how it came out and I hope you were too. Although it is not perfect, it is the closest I have gotten.   
I hoped you enjoyed reading this, wherever you were, whether it was in the dead of the night or early in the morning with the sun shining down on your head. I myself think that this story is best enjoyed in the dead of the night with a cup of warm jasmine tea and madeleines (Just don't drug it like Thomas did).  
For those of you who want further answers to this story, please keep your eyes open for a small sequel called "Honeymoon in Hell." Once again, thank you for reading this.


	59. Final Words

“One of the pitfalls of childhood is that one doesn't have to understand something to feel it. By the time the mind is able to comprehend what has happened, the wounds of the heart are already too deep.”  The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruíz Zafón

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I had done some colorless drawings for this story. If you would like to see them, they are [here](https://scattered-irises.tumblr.com/post/187410215130/of-lace-and-porcelain-has-officially-ended-thanks). 


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